


Historia de Dos Guitarras

by aurawind



Category: Book of Life (2014), Coco (2017), El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera, The Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Coco, Bad Decisions, Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Family Secrets, First Love, Forgiveness, Guilt, Idiots in Love, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Other, POV Multiple, References to Aztec Religion & Lore, Rescue Missions, Skeletons, Slow Burn, Teenage Dorks, references to other movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 80,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurawind/pseuds/aurawind
Summary: At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?





	1. Thoughts

At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest. Of course, there were many ways to die. You could be remembered, or forgotten, cursed, or be completely unknown. And so, each deity ruled a different land.

La Muerte ruled over the Land of the Remembered, the happiest of the realms. Her husband, Xibalba, ruled over the Land of the Forgotten; a sad place for those souls who could no longer be remembered by anyone. La Noche, sister to La Muerte, and her husband El Chamuco, took care of the Lands of the Unknown and the Cursed.

Above all, there was the Candle Maker, the oldest deity, who kept an eye on all the candles that held the lives of the mortals, and ensured their transition through the realms was as painless as possible from within his realm, the Cave of Souls.

It was a perfect system. But as centuries went by, the deities grew bored and started to make bets. Some of them were silly. Others ruined lives, both mortal and immortal. Like the time La Muerte and Xibalba made a bet over who would be the one to marry María, the little “princess” of the town of San Ángel. Joaquín and Manolo definitely deserved better than being pinned against each other, and it was a miracle their friendship had survived, against all odds.

La Muerte, who was undoubtedly the most loving of the four deities, couldn’t help but take pity on the mortals - especially after certain stunts pulled by her husband and some of their children. Like Sartana. Her crimes were not something she could ignore - they were as painfully obvious as Xibalba’s love for mischief. It was probable that she had taken that after her father. However, blaming Sartana wouldn’t change things; So she adopted different measures.

After Sartana was banished from the Lands of the Dead, La Muerte decided to create a series of departments that would handle the new arrivals; like the Department of Family Reunions, and the Marigold Bridge. It was everything she could do within her own realm, really, since she couldn’t get the other gods to improve the situation of their own kingdoms. Not because they couldn’t, they just… didn’t care for humans as much she did. Not even Xibalba, who considered humans close to ants.

Though the lack of action couldn’t compare to Sartana’s crime. In her attempt to erase her own memories of the human who broke her heart, her daughter had pretty much wiped the memories of all the souls of the Land of the Remembered, making them forget completely about the existence of the other realms. Shortly after, she could hear souls approaching her castle, all them wanting to know what happened after the ‘Final Death’. How could she tell them, or anyone, that the forgotten souls would go to a cold, sad place forever caught in the mist of time?

She couldn’t.  

She had no power to stop that from happening. Humans forget things, people, and places, all the time. It was just the way things were.

And yet, sometimes, she couldn’t help but feel terrible about it. Because she could tell some souls didn’t deserve to be forgotten, like Héctor Rivera.

His Final Death had been one close call. If it wasn’t for that little chamaco, Miguel… maybe he wouldn’t have made it. He would have fallen to the lands of the Forgotten. Just like Chicharrón, Chelo, and many, many souls who deserved better than they got.

As she stared through her window, La Muerte let out a sigh of relief. Coco Rivera just had arrived to the gates, and her family had come to pick her up. If she closed her eyes, she could see Imelda hugging her daughter tightly. She could hear Coco calling for her papá. And she could see Héctor welcoming her in a teary-eyed embrace and practically ninety years of kisses waiting to be delivered. Scenes likes this were common in the Land of the Remembered every day. Wonderful family reunions. Happy endings. Fiestas and churros and music everywhere.

But deep down, she couldn’t help but worry a little. Xibalba had a point - Ernesto de la Cruz _DESERVED_ to go to the Land of the Forgotten, but they just couldn’t drag him there. There were people who still remembered him in the land of the living, people who still didn’t believe he had stolen Héctor’s music, or people who simply hadn’t heard about his crimes. So, even when he was ‘forgotten’ in Santa Cecilia, his fame managed to keep him tied to the Land of the Remembered. Or perhaps, more appropriately, his infamy.

At least she could count on the alebrijes to keep an eye on him. That man was certainly slick, and La Muerte had the slight suspicion that Ernesto still had some tricks under the sleeve. She shouldn’t interfere, it wasn’t her place to do so - for now, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth, and my amazing Mexican consultants, the-musical-cc, RavenNatalie and uncuentofriki on Tumblr!
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated.


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Ernesto couldn’t be more upset.

He had been so close, SO CLOSE, to getting away with that murder and live forever the great life he adored.

But then Miguel had to come and ruin everything. And now… now everything had changed. He had lost most of his ofrendas, his nice clothes, even his tower!

He knew he was screwed when La Muerte herself came out of her gorgeous tree-shaped castle. Truth to be told, Ernesto had expected the worst, but the most she had done was wipe out his ofrendas, movies, and other belongings out of existence… all to turn his tower into the Home for the Nearly Forgotten. A request from Héctor, who now was becoming quite the celebrity along with the rest of the familia Rivera.

And him… he didn’t get anything. Only his chihuahua alebrijes stood by his side, which wasn’t really helpful.

His kicked a stone and held one side of his face, wincing. Being crushed by a bell for a second time had left prominent fractures on his skull, ribcage, legs and arms. It would be a miracle if he could ever recover enough strength to play a guitar. And given he wasn’t as remembered as he used to be, the damage in his bones wasn’t healing any faster.

It was then that one of his alebrijes started barking at something - no, someone hiding in a dark alley. A mysterious woman in a red and black dress and a big hat.

“You look like you could use some help, amigo mío…” she spoke, turning toward him with a smirk. “You look terrible, de verdad.”

“Déjame en paz…” Ernesto grunted. He was aware of how bad his wounds looked. He didn’t want to hear anyone else laughing at them.

“I could do that. But I think you’d rather enjoy… el sabor de la venganza…”

The musician looked up. Revenge… now that was certainly interesting. With his leg still limping, Ernesto walked toward her, ignoring the distressed whines of his alebrijes.

“Quizá. Who are you…?”

“Oh, just a lonely, ignored soul who knows what it feels to lose everything. But together… maybe we can get back everything we’ve ever wanted… Incluso un poquito más…”

Oh, the offer was tempting. Ernesto walked one step toward her - just to have one of his tibias be snatched by one of his chihuahuas and run off with it. “HEY!”

The alebrije didn’t make it far. The skeletal woman raised her arm, making the alebrije freeze in place. Ernesto managed to stand up and get back his tibia.

“Stupid dog. Go away!” he yelled at the poor animal.

The chihuahua whined and ran, quickly followed by his companions. As they ran, Ernesto couldn’t help but feel a jab of worry. Those dogs were the only family he had in the Land of the Dead. For the first time in decades, he felt truly alone.

“Do not fret, Ernesto. You don’t need them. Just like I don’t need my parents, either.”

Ernesto turned around to face her. A bone-chilling sensation ran through his body.

“Who are you…?”

A devilish grin filled her face.

“Sartana of the Dead. Hija de la Muerte y su esposo, Xibalba.” When she noticed the fear into his eyes, she smirked. Maybe she had erased many memories from the minds of the souls… but people hadn’t forgotten about the gods. Or herself. “No temas, Ernesto. You should feel afortunado. Not everyone wins the favor of a goddess… And I want you to be… mi campeón.”

Ernesto bit his bottom lip. Her champion. He was starting to like the sound of this. Who knew, maybe he could use her power to get his life back.

Maybe he could even get rid of Héctor and Miguel, and the other Riveras.

It was just a matter of time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Translations (chapter 2):  
> 'amigo mío' - my friend  
> 'de verdad' - really  
> 'Déjame en paz' - 'Leave me in peace' or 'leave me alone'  
> 'el sabor de la venganza' - 'the flavor of revenge'  
> 'Quizá' - 'maybe'  
> 'Incluso un poquito más' - 'Even a little more'  
> 'Hija de la Muerte y su esposo, Xibalba' - 'Daughter to La Muerte and her husband, Xibalba'  
> 'No temas, Ernesto' - 'Don't be afraid, Ernesto'  
> 'afortunado' - 'lucky'  
> 'mi campeón' - 'my champion'


	3. Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.  
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Héctor couldn’t help but smile as he strummed his guitar. Imelda was dancing on stage with him, just like they used to do when they were alive. As she swirled her skirt, Héctor spun around her, releasing a cheerful grito. Oh, this sure was perfect…

 _“What color is the sky? Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor_  
_You tell me that it’s red, ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor_  
_Where should I put my shoes? Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor_  
_You say, “put them on your head!” Ay, mi amor, ay, mi amor…!”_

The Nearly Forgotten were a wonderful audience, though they didn’t only love him only for his music, but for the new home Héctor had got for them (with some help of Catrina herself). But Héctor only had eyes for his familia.

Searching through the crowd, he spotted Coco, who was dancing. It still amazed him to think now his baby girl was way older than him - and yet, she still could dance as if her age didn’t matter. The fact that Julio was there for her helped. Not too far away from them, Victoria, Óscar, Felipe and Rosita were helping the oldest souls to find a spot to enjoy the concert. Truth be told, none of them had left their shoe making business, but they were more open to using their weekends for other activities that didn’t involve their job.

When the song came to an end, Héctor felt Imelda taking his hand when he bowed to thank the audience, and a warm sensation spread within his ribcage.

They were on their way to mending their relationship, and of course Imelda couldn’t forgive the fact he had left, but given how much effort Héctor put into making up for it, her heart was slowly warming up to him again. To be honest, it wasn’t that hard. Héctor sang to Coco and her mother almost every day, and she could tell he had started to write new songs (probably inspired by Miguel).

Sure, he moved from the guest room to hers, though she couldn’t tell exactly when. Definitely it was after his visits to her workshop became something daily, and sometime around when the sound of his voice no longer bothered her, but made her smile instead.

Imelda knew that, at some point, Héctor lay on her bed and played with her hair, admiring that silver streak that marked her old age.

“Unas canas hermosas…”, he had said.

Maybe echoing the love of her happiest years, her fingers had found their way into his hair, messing ever so gently with it. “So soft…”, she whispered in return.

It was so lovely being able to make up for all the time they missed each other…

Of course they still argued every now and then- what couple didn’t? But those arguments weren’t real fights. They were more like back-and-forth banter, where Héctor usually had a bad idea and Imelda had to stop him from running straight into a wall - or any situation where his skeleton would end all over the streets. The good thing was, Héctor did listen, and he managed to keep himself together more often, thanks to her.

As they left the stage, Héctor squeezed Imelda’s hand. “You looked amazing back there, mi amor. Did you have fun?”

“It was… interesante, to say the least.” Imelda chuckled lightly. “I never thought you’d want me of all people to join your performance…”

“I haven’t forgotten La Llorona…” Héctor smirked, and pulled her close to kiss her cheek. “Venga, Coco is waiting for us. I want to see if she liked the last song.”

“That was one of your new ones, no es así?” Imelda muttered, deep in thought. “It’s a pity Miguel isn’t here. Bet he could make it famous in the Land of the Living.”

“Ah, está bien. He can write his own. I’m happy with you, and Coco, and our family.” Héctor took off his mariachi hat, and put on the straw one. After almost a century with it, he felt weird without the feeling of straw poking his skull. “Mira, our little girl is right there.”

“Papá! Mamá!” Coco happily waved to them, still holding hands with Julio. She was walking toward them, when all the lights of the tower went out all of the sudden.

A series of muffled gasps filled the room. Coco clung to Julio, while Héctor’s first reaction was to put Imelda behind him. Not that he could do much to protect her… besides Imelda was already taking off her boot. A crazy laughter could be heard in all the building.

* * *

 

At the same time, both La Muerte and Xibalba had an ominous feeling. Someone whose magic shouldn’t be there just had used it on a big scale.

“It can’t be her… can it?” La Muerte whispered.

“It is… I can feel the trace of our magic…” Xibalba confirmed, jumping from his realm to hers in a line of smoke, reaching to hold her hand.

* * *

 

Héctor and Imelda tried to move in the darkness. They had to reach their daughter.

“Coco! Julio!” he called, squinting his eyes. “Who’s there? Who’s laughing?”

“Papá! Estoy aquí!”

Héctor couldn’t do anything except follow her voice, believing that a sudden short circuit shouldn’t be happening here in all places, especially after hearing that laugh. But something more nerve-wracking happened.

“PAPAAAAAAAAÁ!!!!!” Coco screamed, as a strong set of arms dragged her away from her husband. The moment Julio felt his wife leaving his arms, he tried to drag her toward him, with no success.

“COCOOOO!” Both Héctor and Julio screamed her name at unison.

The musician and his wife tried to chase after her, but bumped into Victoria, whose skull fell on the floor.

Julio was in no ways fast, but he had some good ideas every now and then. Noticing a few marigold decorations still hanging from one of the columns, he lifted his lighter toward them, setting them on fire… Just in time to see a mysterious woman with a red dress and a charro hat sprout black wings and jump through the window with his beloved. Shards of colored glass surrounded them, sparkling on mid-air before they fell into oblivion.

“Papá! Julio!!! AYUDAAA!!”

“Coco! NO!!!” All the Riveras ran to the window, devastated by such kidnapping. Héctor, probably the most heartbroken of all. “Coco…”

“We need my spirit guide… Pepita.” Imelda brought her fingers to her lips, releasing a loud whistle. She wasn’t one to stay quiet and weep, oh no. Whoever dared to hurt her daughter was in for a lot of trouble.

In no time, the massive jaguar-like alebrije flew toward them, instantly catching on the distress shared by all the family. Imelda jumped on her back. “Vamos, Héctor. We’ve got to save our little girl!”

Not hesitating, Héctor jumped on Pepita, before the jaguar took off. He held onto Imelda’s waist and frowned. Everything was going so well in the last months… it seemed bad luck kept chasing his shadow, after all. Catching himself dwelling in those thoughts, he shook his head. Being negative wouldn’t help. He had to be strong, for himself, for Imelda, and for Coco. He had to.

* * *

 

“Wait, I wanna go… with you…!” Julio tried to join them, but it was too late. Imelda and Héctor were already far away, trying to chase off the strange entity. The old man felt a bad feeling tugging at his ribcage. “Coco…”

Many souls of the Nearly Forgotten approached them, worried for the Riveras, and shaken by the kidnapping that had happened in front of them. Rosita was trying to help Victoria put her skull back in place, though it was difficult when the only fire available were the flower petals. Oscar and Felipe managed to break through the crowd to reach them, but there wasn’t enough light just yet.

“What was THAT?”

“I think it was a woman, but… with wings?”

“Alebrijes are the only entities with wings in this world… it can’t be a skeleton, for sure!”

“Ugh. Being stepped on isn’t fun.” Victoria groaned. She turned to Rosita. “Gracias…”

It was then when two very familiar faces appeared on the tower; La Muerte and Xibalba. It was already weird when the goddess came out of her palace on her own, but when her husband was present… things were definitely going wrong. La Muerte clicked her fingers, and the lights returned in the blink of an eye.

“Mi Señora!” Julio got on one knee to show her his respects. “Por favor, help us! A weird human-looking alebrije just kidnapped my wife! With a red hat and black wings!”

Gasps of surprise filled the room. Addressing the deities like that… that was bold!

Xibalba hit the floor with his snake-shaped staff to silence everyone. He looked at Catrina with a serious expression. La Muerte nodded and turned to the crowd.

“She is no alebrije, but a goddess who lost her mind. Her name is Sartana. We banished her, but… She has returned.” she spoke in a soft, yet worried voice that couldn’t hide a pinch of guilt. “Her magic is very powerful… and evil. Todos, escúchenme! Make sure to take shelter and stay there until further notice!” Then she took Xibalba’s hand, frowning a little. “We have to stop her. But I think we’ll need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Translations for Chapter 3:  
> 'Grito' - Scream (does this even need translation now? XD)  
> 'Unas canas hermosas' - A beautiful gray hair  
> 'mi amor' - my love  
> 'interesante' - interesting  
> 'Venga' - Come on  
> '...no es así?' - ...isn't it?  
> 'está bien' - it's all good  
> 'Ayuda!' - 'Help!'  
> 'Vamos' - Let's go  
> 'Mi Señora' - My Lady  
> 'Todos, escuchadme!' - Everyone, listen to me!


	4. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Coco couldn’t help but groan in pain. A few minutes ago, she was clinging to her kidnapper for dear life as they jumped from that tower.

Then she saw a sea of marigold petals… and next thing she knew, she was thrown in a dark place she only had heard about, but had never seen before.

Shantytown.

After the great opening of the Home for the Nearly Forgotten, this area of the Land of the Dead was pretty much abandoned. Rumors said that those who dared to go through the mist would fall into the darkness, never to return. But those were probably lies. Her papá had been living here for years, for God’s sake!

She tried to investigate her surroundings. She was chained to the wall... A wooden wall, part of what seemed to be a worn out shack, with all kinds of stuff with a familiar face. Vinyls, dolls, photos… Everything about a man she’d rather forget.

“Getting used to your new home, Coco?” A baritone voice mocked her.

She looked up, frowning a little. “De la Cruz…” she spat back, hatred obvious in her voice. “I thought you were rotting under that bell.”

“So rude. And here I thought you’d be happy to see your Tío Ernesto once again.” Ernesto leaned forward, examining her chains. They didn’t seem that tight, but Sartana had told him they were magic, so…

Coco looked up. The chains! If her Papá was able to detach parts of his own body so easily, maybe she could do it too! She tried to pull her hands off, just to be struck with a sheer pain. She whimpered, wincing, and stopped struggling, just to stare at Ernesto. “¿Q-qué es esto…?”

“Something you can’t escape from.” Ernesto answered coldly. “Your father took everything away from me. My fame, my fans, everything I loved…”

“So did you!” Coco retorted. Oh, how she’d want to take off her chancla and hit him with it!

“That was different. I had to… seize my moment.” Ernesto straightened his position. “You better get ready, Coco. We’re leaving… to a place where your parents will never be able to find us.”

“Eres un monstruo!” The elder woman protested, trying her best to be fierce.

That would be what her mother would do. Show her rage to hide her fear…

Sartana appeared on the doorframe. After adjusting a little her red hat, she handed a bouquet of burned marigolds to her partner. “Ernesto, it’s time.” she announced. "Do as I told you. It will work."

Coco clenched her fists. That was the winged woman who had brought her here! But who was she? Why was she helping Ernesto of all people?

“Very well. Disculpa, little Coco. The show must go on.” Ernesto adjusted the neck of his suit and began to place a trail of middle-burned marigolds around the three of them.

Marigolds... Those flowers were magical, her parents told her so. 

Behind him, Coco could tell Sartana was smirking. Whatever these two had planned -it seemed it was working well so far…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Translations for chapter 4:  
> 'Tío' - uncle  
> “¿Q-qué es esto…?” - "W-what is this?"  
> 'chancla' - slipper/shoe  
> “Eres un monstruo!” - "You're a monster!"  
> 'Disculpa' - 'Sorry' or 'My apologies'
> 
> Sorry for such a short chapter! Things will pick up soon!


	5. Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.  
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Blissfully unaware of the events taking place in the land of the dead, Miguel was tuning up his guitar. It was an exact replica of his great-great-grandfather’s guitar, as the original rested along with Mama Coco’s letters in a small museum dedicated to his life, at one side of their home. He still couldn’t believe that his dear Abuelita, the very same who would threaten mariachis with her chancla, had been the one to give him this guitar. He guessed minds could change if given proof - and his Abuelita was a perfect example of this.

After his first visit to the Land of the Dead in that fateful Día de Muertos, gathering evidence of the plagiarism Ernesto de la Cruz had done during his life wasn’t too hard. Especially now that his family supported him.

Mama Coco backed up his investigation before she passed away, confirming that her papá had left Santa Cecilia with Ernesto, never to return. The last tracks of Héctor guided him to Mexico City, where he could, after some weeks of research, finally find his great-great-grandfather’s body. It was possible thanks to a very elderly lady who had witnessed the murder back in 1921. She was just a little girl back then - but her eyes still shone with tears as she remembered the death of one innocent man who deserved better.

Miguel couldn’t thank her enough, as her revelation helped the Riveras to win the case against the heirs of De La Cruz’s musical emporium. In the span of a few weeks, the name of Héctor Rivera ascended to the top of the music charts, as more and more singers wanted to perform his songs. The money that Héctor hadn’t managed to get home in life, now helped the family after his death. It was all this money what helped to create the memorial in his honor, and also what paid not only moving his physical remains to his rightful place next to his wife, but Mama Coco’s funeral as well. And even then, the Riveras still had some money left to live without many worries. Of course, not all songs were shared with the world. “Remember Me” recovered its original purpose, serving as the family’s lullaby.

They could have moved to a bigger house, changed their business, or bought a car. But his familia was a humble one through and through, and they kept being shoemakers, even after the music ban was lifted. Abuelita Elena was overall nicer, and Miguel noticed her sometimes kicking one of her feet, following the strums of  his new guitar. Maybe deep down, she liked music too… but was too stubborn to admit it.

As baby Coco slept, he played a few notes. He hadn’t seen Dante in the last couple of days - which was really weird. Miguel suspected something was off, but he didn’t know exactly what was it. Maybe it was that fear that kept tugging at his heart since almost a year ago. A question that remained unanswered. Did he manage to save Héctor? Or was it too late for him? If it was, Mamá Coco would never see her father again…

Noticing the tears falling down his cheeks, Miguel wiped them quickly. He didn’t want his Mamá, or worse, his Abuelita, getting all worried over things for which he wouldn’t find answers for decades.

If only he could find a way to know everyone was alright. He had to leave in a rush to save his own life and Héctor’s… without any chance to say goodbye, or share one last hug…

It was then when he heard barking noises in the street. He got up, leaving his guitar on his bed, and walked outside. It was Dante! And three chihuahuas which looked oddly familiar, though he couldn’t tell exactly where he had seen them before. And they were… wet, for some reason? It wasn’t a bad thing, given it was August. The heat would be enough to dry them off in no time.

“Dante! Qué bueno verte!” He hugged his dog, before giving a quizzical gaze to the smaller dogs. “Who are your little friends?”

The chihuahuas started to whine, as if something bad was happening. Even Dante’s behavior seemed affected, as he started to push Miguel toward the cemetery.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening, boys?” the child seemed certainly flabbergasted. Was this some kind of magic alebrije business? It could be, but… El Día de Muertos was still so far away! Surely the dead couldn’t visit the living in different dates, right?

… Perhaps they could. Or alebrijes could.

Because the door to Ernesto’s grave was half-open, and a guitar he knew well was resting on the floor inside, still wet, with some marigold petals stuck to its chords.

Chicharrón’s guitar.

Miguel felt a pang of guilt in his chest. With everything that happened during those months, he hadn’t thought of that guitar. He ran inside the mausoleum to pick it up and examine it. Fortunately, it didn’t seem too damaged. To think this guitar was Chicharrón’s dearest possession, and he had forgotten about it, lost forever in Ernesto’s pool–

Suddenly, a realization hit him. As much as he hated to think about that musician, now he could recall where he saw those small dogs before.

“No mames…”

They were Ernesto’s alebrijes! But… there were only three of them. Where was the fourth? And what were these alebrijes doing here?

“If you came to take me to Ernesto, you’re wasting your time. I’m not going with you. Besides, there’s almost two months left until Día de Muertos. Vámonos, Dante.” Miguel held  the guitar tighter and walked to the exit. Those alebrijes were smart, luring him in with that guitar… but there was no way he’d fall for it. He was way smarter than let himself get caught in a trap. Because this is what it was, wasn’t it? A trap set up by Ernesto… Though he wasn’t sure how Ernesto could get Dante on his side, because his dog wouldn’t stop tugging at his sleeve.

“Stop it, Dante! We gotta go!” Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice someone entering the grave as he was walking outside, and bumped into them.  “Ahhhh! L-lo siento!” He apologized right away. 

It was a woman with red hair and blue eyes. Where did she come from? He didn’t hear her coming… Did she hear him talking to the alebrijes?

“A grave doesn’t seem like a place to chill out with a guitar, Miguelito.” The woman smiled, leaning forward to pet his head. She was carrying the fourth alebrije in her arms.

Such closeness was strange for a complete stranger. Well, maybe not, since hugs and kisses were normal even among strangers, but something in her voice was almost motherly. “Do I know you..?”

“Más o menos.” La Muerte dropped her disguise and stood to her full height. “Maybe now you can recognize me.”

“La Catrina! I thought… you were only a political cartoon…” Now Miguel felt embarrassed for knowing so little. But this woman was definitely her - with the marigolds, the charro hat, the clothes...

The goddess smiled softly and knelt to look into his eyes. “Well, that one artist made me famous. But I’ve been existing for much longer, under many names.”

Miguel retreated, humbled by her presence. “I didn’t mean to steal this guitar, I promise! I just wanted to protect it from… them!” He pointed to the chihuahuas in an accusatory tone.

La Muerte couldn’t help but laugh. “You know… actually I sent them after you, mijo.”

Miguel blinked in surprise. “But… they are Ernesto's…”

“Ernesto disappeared from the Land of the Dead, Miguel. And before you ask, no, he hasn’t succumbed to the Final Death. His alebrijes told me so.” She pointed to the dogs, smiling. “And they also told me someone is using him…”

She fell silent for a moment, doubtful.

“The thing is, I need you, Miguel. And so does your Mamá Coco.”

Any fears he had before vanished in the blink of an eye. Forget Ernesto, the alebrijes, even common sense… “What happened to her? Is she okay?”

La Muerte shook her head. “Someone kidnapped her, Miguel…”

His heart sunk. “No! No no no no no! She… she passed away just some months ago, it can’t be! She had to meet my Papá Héctor, and Mamá Imelda, and…!”

“Miguel…” The goddess reached to cup his cheek and wipe away the tears forming in the kid’s eyes. “On my way to tell you, Ernesto’s alebrijes told me what happened. I suspect Ernesto is involved. But he might be playing with something bigger than himself…”

Miguel stepped back, feeling a gut wrenching sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Qué…?”

“I could tell you, but I think it will be better when you see it by yourself.” She plucked a marigold petal from her dress and extended it to Miguel. The petal lit up with a warm, golden light. “Miguel… I give you my blessing, to visit the Land of the Dead… Become mi campeón… and help your family to save your Mamá Coco.”

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise. A blessing from La Muerte herself! This was the chance he had been hoping for. A chance to find out if Héctor was OK. And yet…

“But… what about mi familia here? They’ll notice I’m not home…”

“Oh, don’t worry.” The goddess clicked her fingers. “Fixed. Look through the window.”

Miguel couldn’t believe his eyes. Doves frozen while flying. People quiet as statues. The wind no longer blowing. Everything quiet as a photograph.

“You just… froze time?! Just like that?”  He turned to Catrina, who giggled at his awe.

“I’m a diosa, Miguelito. Don’t forget it.” She said, and extended the glowing petal toward him. “Vámonos. The Land of the Dead awaits.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to write a drabble about that little girl who witnessed the murder. Would you guys be interested on reading a story like that?
> 
> Translations for chapter 5:  
> Día de Muertos - Day of the Dead  
> Abuelita - grandmother  
> "Qué bueno verte!” - "So good to see you!"  
> “No mames…” - Literally “don’t suck.” It means “stop fucking around” or “stop being an asshole”, though in this context it's "What the hell?!"  
> "Vámonos" - "Let's go"  
> "Lo siento" - "Sorry"  
> "Más o menos" - "More or less"  
> Mijo - Combination in one word of "mi hijo". It means "my son"  
> "Qué?" - What?  
> "mi campeón" - my champion  
> diosa - goddess
> 
> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!


	6. Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

They’d been flying around the tower and its surroundings for almost one hour, and no trace of the mysterious creature that took their daughter away. Once Pepita had landed, Héctor jumped from her back and offered one hand to Imelda, who let out a soft sigh as she took it. She really didn’t need help, but she appreciated little gestures like that.

“I don’t understand.” The woman said, hugging herself as soon as her feet touched the ground. “People just… don’t disappear like that, unless…”

She looked back to Héctor, unable to continue. The topic of the Final Death was still a touchy subject for both of them, so they just… didn’t talk about it. Plus it wouldn’t make any sense in this situation. Both of them knew how loved Coco was. She wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon.

“I think there’s magic involved in this. Not the good kind.” Héctor mumbled, clenching his fist. “I should have done more. I could have run… She was right there and… I was there for once and couldn’t protect her!”

“Héctor…” Imelda could tell how much he was hurting inside. Even being a skeleton, he suddenly looked older, but maybe it was just because sadness took away that special light from his eyes. Fate was indeed cruel, taking their little Coco far away from them after such a long awaited reunion. She meant to touch his shoulder joints, just that - and somehow, she ended hugging him from behind. Maybe she needed this, too. Some comfort. “No one could do anything, so stop blaming yourself. We should reunite with the rest of the family, talk with our neighbors, make sure to spread the news in case anyone sees her…” She mumbled, breathing against his back.

Héctor seemed to relax under her touch. She could feel his shoulders drop little by little.

“Sabes… One time, I met this guy called Joaquín. He lives in the neighborhood of San Ángel. I thought he was crazy at first, but… he was one of the Champions of Xibalba. He met the deity en persona… and he described him as a burned, dark skeleton with black wings.That creature had black wings too.”

Imelda stepped back, her eyes growing so big that one could fall out of her sockets. Maybe Héctor was onto something here! “Do you think Xibalba kidnapped our niñita? Because if he did… I don’t care if he’s a god, he’s so going to get a boot-slap!”

Héctor laughed at her outburst. “Not Xibalba, but… someone close to him. We should visit Joaquín. Maybe he knows more.” Héctor took her hand into his, squeezing it. “Vamos.”

“Héctor! Mamá Imelda!” A familiar voice made them turn around. It was Julio, who came practically breathless despite the generous amount of public transport in the Land of the Dead. “I’m coming with you!” Right behind him, other deceased Riveras looked equally tired.

“Julio! What are you guys doing here?”

“We talked with La Muerte and Xibalba.” The elder skeleton rushed to explain.

“The creature kidnapping Coco was a rogue goddess called Sartana.” Rosita interrupted him. “We came to let you know, and…”

“Y os hemos oído.” Julio smirked. “If you want a expert in godly encounters, we should talk with Manolo Sánchez, just saying…”

“Wait, so he was a real person?” Héctor was surprised. “I thought the stories about him were fake. I mean - a bullfighter-turned-musician crossing over different worlds to reunite with the love of his life…”

“Clearly you haven’t visited San Ángel that much.” Victoria smirked, and nudged the twins. “Not like us, eh guys?”

Felipe looked away, the soul marks on his cheeks sparkling a little in embarrassment, while Oscar did his best to explain themselves. “The Sánchez twins love our shoes. They wouldn’t stop asking for more.”

“I wonder if that was the ONLY reason.” Julio chuckled, crossing his arms.

“UGH!” Imelda groaned, throwing her arms into the air. “In case you forgot, my daughter is still out there, kidnapped by Sarna…”

“Sartana.” Héctor corrected her in a low voice.

“Tanto monta, monta tanto.” She pouted, crossing her arms. “If your friends in San Ángel can help us, let’s go there. I just hope it isn’t too far away…”

“Not really. We only have to pick up the funicular. Mostly because I doubt Pepita can carry all of us…” Héctor reached to pet Pepita’s snout. “We are way too many and I’d rather have her keep her energy in case we gave to fight Sartana for Coco.”

The jaguar alebrije let out a little huff, and Imelda smiled. It was great to see that, even with his dorky personality, Héctor was able to plan things in advance - a quality she appreciated.

“Then we shouldn’t waste time. Good thing I always carry my funicular tickets with me!” Victoria raised them into the air. “Vamos!”

“Lead the way.” Hector let Victoria lead. He turned toward Imelda, who seemed oddly quiet as she looked at the lights close to the Marigold Bridge. Silence wasn’t something common for her. “Imelda… are you OK?”

“I was just… thinking.” She let her arms fall to her sides, she didn’t even complain when Héctor took her hand in his. Right now, she didn’t even have the energy to protest. “It’s… it’s so unfair. I was really happy now that the three of us were finally together… and now she’s gone…”

Héctor squeezed her hand, and she let out a sigh. His touch, even if it was all bones now, was comforting to her - just the way it used to be when they were alive. Looking up to his eyes, Imelda choked a sob. “Why her of all people…? What are they going to do with our little girl, Héctor? I… I just…” She winced and covered her eyes. She didn’t want to break down here, but she was certainly close to tears.

“Imelda…” Héctor reached to cup her skull and kiss her forehead. “I… I don’t know. To be honest, I’m scared too. But…” He lifted her cheekbones with his fingers and caressed her soul markings. “We’re going to get through this, together. We Riveras never give up, do we?”

Such warmth and care melted her heart. Imelda pulled back, and wiped away tears that threatened to spill. “True. We don’t give up. We can do this.”

“We’ll save her.” Héctor declared, and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “And then we can go eat tamales. Like those really spicy ones.”

The image of Héctor begging for water after eating a Spice Surprise definitely got her to laugh. It was one of the recent memories they made together, and one of their funniest. One that got Imelda to smile every time. Moments like this reminded her why she had married him of all people. “Don’t promise anything you can’t handle, músico.”

“Oh, I can handle that. After all, I can handle you,” Héctor dared to joke.

Her breathing was catching up to a regular pace. Certainly everything he did helped. “You smooth idiota.” she smiled, giving him a playful push aside.

Good thing that the funicular wasn’t too crowded today. The trip to San Ángel seemed promising so far.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave the Tres Leches out of this XD Get ready, Manolo, María and Joaquín are coming soon!
> 
> Translations for chapter 6:  
> "Sabes" - "You know"  
> en persona - in person  
> niñita - little girl  
> "Vamos" - "Let's go"  
> “Y os hemos oído.” - "And we heard you"  
> Sarna - It means "scabies" or "itch"  
> “Tanto monta, monta tanto.” - Spanish version of "Potato, tomato"  
> músico - musician  
> idiota - idiot
> 
> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!


	7. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

The waters of the Land of the Remembered stretched up way deep into the mist, and their calm waters still showed light waves every now and then. The photo of a certain musician could have been lost forever, if it wasn’t because one of the sea currents pushed it far, far away, to a place that no Remembered skeleton had ever visited.

The Land of the Unknown.

A gorgeous kingdom surrounded by mist, full of exquisite silver pyramids and intricate patterns all over them, living in a eternal night. The fate of the people who passed away without leaving behind any living memory behind that could classify them as ‘Forgotten’, and the people who did have some impact, but couldn’t pass on their own stories and names. A home for cryptids and alebrijes of all kind.

A gorgeous goddess of blue skin ruled over them: La Noche, who was about to enjoy her bath routine. Taking off her impressive crown of feathers, moons and stars, she let her delicate indigo robes fall, along with her luxurious golden necklaces and the rest of her jewellery. As her body sunk into the water, her blue skin seemed to shine. “Mmmh… Cold…” And relaxing.

She could see the lights of her sister’s territory, not as sparkly as it would be on Día de Muertos, yet shiny enough to make her feel jealous. “Ahhh… Nothing interesting ever happens here…” She complained, looking up into the distance. She wondered if she could manipulate Xibalba again…

It was then when she felt something poking her knee. Was it some fish alebrije? She reached under the surface and fished the item out of water. It was… a photo. Like the one you’d put in a ofrenda. The image, even worn out with age and some damage here and there, showed a young man with a dorky smile. How charming. “I wonder who you are.” she mumbled. Maybe it would be better to leave her bath for later, she wanted to dry off this picture now. “Haven’t done wagers against my dear hermanita in years. I could use a new campeón…”

It was then when a skeleton approached her. He wore a navy blue shirt under his vest, a pair of shoes and simple, baggy pants… Though his most striking feature were his bones. An Unknown skeleton looked not grey or white - but blue, with white-ish soul markings most of the time.

“Mi Señora, the soldiers of Tannabok have seen a boat full of cempasúchils approach us. There’s three skeletons coming in it… we suspect they come from the land of the Remembered.”

“Qué?!” Remembered souls didn’t just become unknown. It made no sense. Unless her sister La Muerte had a say into it. Irked, La Noche dressed up, then petted the skeleton’s head with her large hand. “Thanks for telling me, Tulio. Go back to your husband and wife, and tell Tannabok to keep his eyes open. We’ll find out soon what’s going on…”

“Gracias, mi Señora.” Tulio bowed to her and left, leaving the goddess alone with her thoughts.

Three strangers… Who could they be? Were they part of some wager between Xibalba and La Muerte? And if yes - why were they trying to sneak into her kingdom, of all places?

Saving the picture into her headdress, the goddess gave a last look to the lights in the distance. Maybe things were changing and La Muerte wasn’t mad at her anymore. She had every reason to be, after their issues a few centuries ago. Though it didn’t matter. Not now.  

A ruckus in the docks caught her attention. Why did she waste so much time thinking about her sister, again? She should be focusing her attention on her upcoming guests! Turning herself into a rain of blue juanilipili flowers, the goddess flew to the source of the sound. And what an interesting sight it was!

Just like Tulio told her, there were three skeletons in a boat full of cempasúchil flowers. But one of them was different. La Noche could catch a slight trace of godly magic on the lady in red. The goddess recovered her usual shape and summoned her moon staff, walking with regal grandeur toward them, while her warriors held several spears high up, ready to break bones if needed.

“You three have got some guts coming here.” She spoke with a calm, yet menacing voice. “Quiénes sois?”

“I see you can’t recognize me… but I can forgive it.” The lady in red and black got up and left the boat, standing on her feet, clearly not afraid. Her stance said it all - though it helped when she took off her hat. “Ha pasado mucho tiempo, Tía Noche.”

A wave of surprise ran over her warriors, while the goddess approached them quickly. At the same time, the younger goddess opened her arms, welcoming her embrace.

“Sartana, mi dulce angelito!” she exclaimed, caught in the joy of the moment. For a second, she could feel that she was hugging her back… Something kind of strange.

Pulling back a little, La Noche realized that the Sartana hugging her was no longer the one she remembered. “But… What happened to you? Te ves vieja, mija!”

Gods couldn’t age. Or _shouldn’t_ age. Something was wrong, she could feel it.

“Not here, Tía Noche.” Sartana looked back to her companions, then to her aunt. “Do you think we can talk somewhere more private?”

La Noche smiled, very sure of herself. “I know a place.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who catches the references to the movie that inspired this chapter wins a cookie! Also, don't let La Noche fool you guys. She's worse than Xibalba actually...
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> La Noche - The Night  
> hermanita - little sister  
> campeón - champion  
> mi Señora - my Lady  
> cempasúchils - marigolds  
> “Qué?!” - "What?!"  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> juanilipili - "ice flower" or "sky flower"  
> “Quiénes sois?” - "Who are you?"  
> “Ha pasado mucho tiempo, Tía Noche.” - "It's been a long time, Aunt Night."  
> mi dulce angelito - my sweet little angel  
> "Te ves vieja, mija!” - "You look old, my daughter!"


	8. Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Miguel stared at his own hands. Just a single marigold petal should be enough to take them to the Land of the Dead…

But it seemed getting there would take them longer than he thought. They were still in Ernesto’s grave, but… he could see a golden aura around his own body, similar to the one of the night where he got cursed. He picked up Chicharrón’s guitar and gave a shy look to the goddess. Would they travel just like regular souls did on Día de Muertos?

Apparently, yes. As he followed La Muerte out of the mausoleum, he could see the bridge. Miguel wondered if it was always there, just hidden from the eyes of the living.

“Vamos, Miguel. It doesn’t bite.” The goddess prompted, and led the way then. She started to walk over it. The petals seemed to sparkle under each of her steps.

“Well, this does bring back memories.” The kid replied, watching how Dante and the chihuahua alebrijes ran over the petals. He hung the guitar over his shoulder. “Has this bridge always been here? When I visited the land of the dead for the first time, I saw several bridges…”

La Muerte giggled and poked his button nose. “Do you really want to know my secrets that badly, Miguel?”

“N-no! It’s just… This place is muy hermoso. I just feel curious about it…” Miguel rubbed his arm, feeling embarrassed. She was treating him like a child and he was already a teen! Well… He was 13. Close enough.

“Well… Long before you were born, we gods used to do wagers all the time to kill boredom. We messed with mortals mucho más, too. I made the Marigold Bridges so everyone could have a chance to visit their living family under certain regulations…”

“The photos in the ofrendas?”

“Yes. Using the photos, we make sure that souls visit only people who loved them. It’s good to avoid souls haunting the lives of their enemies, like ghosts and such. You won’t see this in other places. Most Gods don’t care as much as I do. That’s why I am the best.”

Miguel laughed at such affirmation. Who would have guessed that La Muerte could be funny? “La más chida y chingona, definitely!” he smirked.

“Oi, no cussing in my presence!” With a wave of her hand a jet of petals slapped his face, making him lose his footage and fall. Miguel coughed and looked up. Was she always like this?

“You are just like my Mamá. She often scolds me when I curse. Even when I’m just joking.” He grinned. That was until he saw a shadow of sadness in her eyes. Wait, did he say something wrong? “Señora Muerte…?”

She shook her head and rubbed her eye. “It’s nothing, Miguel.”  

That sounded like a big fat lie, but with the Marigold Bridge Station coming into view Miguel wasn’t protesting. There were urging matters, after all.  Still… what a view! Not as busy as it was on Día de Muertos, but still as colourful as ever, full of agents busy either with paperwork, families ready to pick pick up their newest addition, or simply guarding the doors.

“We’re here. Now we have to find your family. They have been looking for your Mamá Coco all day.”

“Will I see my Papá Héctor?” His eyes were sparkling .

“I won’t spoil the surprise.” The goddess gave him an affectionate smile, giving it away anyway. If Héctor succumbed to his Final Death, she would’ve told him. Which she didn’t. Which MUST mean that Héctor still existed in this realm!

Such thought made him jump into the air, releasing a loud grito. His grito caused Dante and the chihuahuas to howl, joining him in that moment of joy.

The agents on the Marigold Bridge Station seemed surprised to see him again, though given his company, he could tell they wouldn’t complain. It wasn’t a curse this time, so…

“I never got to see the hacienda where my family lives back then…” Miguel muttered, in an attempt to ignore the looks most skeletons gave him. A mix of fear and reverence. Was it aimed at him, or La Muerte? So much attention out of stage made him shiver. Oh, what he’d give to get his hoodie back! He held onto his upper arm, trying to ignore those curious looks.

“You’ll see it  soon. Are you alright, Miguel?”

“I kinda wish people didn’t stare at me this much…” he muttered, avoiding the gaze of most people in the area. “If only I had something to cover myself…”

“I think I can help with that…” The goddess clicked her fingers, and a very familiar red hoodie flew to his hands. The same hoodie Miguel had lost during his first journey to this world.

“My hoodie! Qué padre! Gracias!” Miguel’s eyes went wide. He hugged the goddess around her legs. Compared to him, La Muerte was really huge. “Muchas gracias!”

“Ay, pequeño…” There was that tenderness in her voice again… Miguel noticed it right away. “De nada, Miguelito. Now.” she scooped him into her arms, much like Miguel’s mother would, back when he was a kid.

 

* * *

 

> _“But Mamá… I don’t want to sleep… I want to play with Mamá Coco…”_
> 
> _“It’s late, though.” His mother scooped him up into her arms and kissed his forehead. “All little things must rest at night… Dogs, birds, even children.”_
> 
> _“¿Nos vamos a la cama?” he rubbed his eyes and yawned._
> 
> _“Sí. Time to sleep…”_

* * *

 

This was… kind of nice.

La Muerte’s voice brought him back to the present. Miguel shook his head, trying to focus.

“… Sabes, the Land of the Dead is big. We’ll go to your family soon. But first, we need to go to my castle.”

“Why the castle…?” Miguel arched an eyebrow. What could be that important to make him wait to reunite with his family?

“We need a map.” La Muerte smirked. “Hold on tight. Vamos!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love it when you can connect movies and it works? I had a blast writing this chapter <3  
> Also hooray for flashbacks! This fic will have a few, just like the movie.   
> La Muerte has a motherly streak and adores children. It was really sweet to see her talking with the children in TBOL, and I assume our Miguelito won't be an exception. 
> 
> Translations for this chapter:   
> Vamos - Come on  
> muy hermoso - very beautiful  
> mucho más - much more  
> La más chida y chingona - Here, the nicest and the best. However, "chingón/a" can be used as an insult as well, and even cursing.   
> Señora Muerte - Lady Death  
> Qué padre! - Awesome!  
> Muchas gracias! - Thank you so much!  
> “Ay, pequeño…” - "Aw, little one..."  
> De nada - You're welcome  
> "¿Nos vamos a la cama?” - "Are we going to bed?"  
> Sí - Yes  
> Sabes... - You know...


	9. Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

The Land of the Unknown was somewhat alien to Ernesto. It felt really strange to walk around a place where no one knew who he was. In a way, it was traveling back in time, since many of the souls he could see were wearing robes and jewelry of cultures long time lost, a curious mix of Mayan, Aztec and other civilizations he couldn’t identify.

Something about this place was bone-chilling. He couldn’t figure out what it was, though. The cold atmosphere? The endless paths clouded with mist? The shadows that seemed to stare back at him?

Ernesto felt a warm sensation over his arm. For a moment, that warmth made his mind go back to his days of glory, when he could have a pretty lady willing to hold onto him every now and then. But when he turned to see who it was…

Socorro was latched onto his arm, a little frown on her face. Why was she getting that close all of the sudden?

“Let go of me!” He shook his arm to push her away from him. “Pinche vieja…”

The grimace on her face confirmed his suspicions, she hadn’t clung to him on purpose. But there was something else in her eyes. A shadow of fear. “Ernesto… I feel we shouldn’t be here…”

His mouth contorted in a frown, before he let out a sigh. He looked down to the chains around her wrists, then his eyes narrowed. Was this some kind of trick? This was Héctor’s daughter, after all… A Rivera. And Riveras couldn’t be trusted.

Ernesto decided to ignore her and looked forward. Sartana was talking with her aunt. Bits of their conversation could be heard every now and then. Something about El Machete and Django, apparently people Sartana was fond of? And something about a Mystic Guitar getting shattered several times. And something about the Riveras…?

“Eavesdropping is an ugly thing to do, Ernesto.”

That admonishing tone… it was like the nuns who raised him in the Church of Santa Cecilia. He turned around, looking for some familiar faces, until he noticed Socorro smiling at him. She was still Coco. That pinche cheeky grin of hers, it was just like Héctor’s.

“Ugh, cállate. Don’t forget your place, woman. You’re our prisoner.”

“Says the mariachi who got crushed by a bell twice.”

Ernesto narrowed his eyes. Where did she get such snark?

“That’s low even for you, Coco.” he uttered in a quieter, colder voice.

“And I’ve spent practically a century despising you for butchering my Papa’s music, Ernesto.” She punctuated his name, spitting it as if it was something disgusting. “There’s more where this came from. And it isn’t a pretty place, te lo aseguro.”

Ernesto raised his finger, pointing to her. “Don’t try to bluff. You don’t scare me.”

“You should be. I got the best qualities of my parents. Everyone in mi familia says it.”

Where did she get that self confidence from? He could use some of it now… But he wouldn’t let her win this argument, oh no.

“Sí, claro. The shoemaker and the poor,  poor failed musician… gone too soon…”

The pain etched on Coco’s face was rewarding. Now he felt back in control… for five seconds.

“Arghhh!! Pinche hijo de la chingada!”

Because next thing he knew, Coco held her wrists together and used the chains to knock off his skull! Ernesto felt the air leaving his ribcage, the world spinning around him. A few seconds in the air - and then landing on his mouth. He groaned. That hurt!

“What just happened?”, he heard La Noche ask.

“Ernesto… You’re making a scene…” Sartana picked up his skull.

“We were just arguing, Sartana… I didn't…”

“Just put him in the garbage where he belongs.” Coco said, smirking a bit.

Ernesto pouted at such words. That Coco… for a 90-something year old lady, she sure could be a brat sometimes.

And Sartana just facepalmed. “Sorry, Tía. Mis ‘amigos’ are a little peculiar, you see…” she apologized, as she put Ernesto’s head back on his body.

La Noche laughed and shook her head. “It’s no problem, mija. I haven’t seen such lively people in centuries. It’s a nice change. But we’ve got bigger issues to worry about.”

The blue goddess clapped her hands twice, and a huge pyramid of gold emerged from the waters nearby. The golden pyramid was decorated with several blue, purple and black embellishments. When watched closely, one could guess that some of the figures represented La Muerte, Xibalba, and other deities.

“La Pirámide Nocturna…” Sartana whispered. Was there a hint of nostalgia in her voice? For a second, Ernesto wondered if there was more to Sartana than what meets the eye.

“Remember when you were little, Sartana?” La Noche said, beckoning them to follow her inside. “We would hide together and play pranks on your Mamá.”

“Buenos tiempos…” Sartana muttered, and turned to Ernesto. “Wait for me here. I have private matters to discuss with mi tía.”

“¡¿Qué?! Oh, come onnnn!!!! I thought we were in this together!” He grumbled. Feeling like her minion wasn’t fun. He was born to grab the spotlight… was this what Héctor felt, being forgotten?

“And we are!” Her voice came out a little more desperate than it should be when she truly meant her words. Was she lying? “It’s just… this comes first. Just trust me, de acuerdo?”

“…De acuerdo.” he finally gave in. He couldn’t do much more, could he? Even if he begged (and he’d never, ever do such thing), it seemed Sartana was not willing to share that much about herself.

Watching her disappear inside the pyramid with her aunt made his ribcage feel tight. He kicked a stone from their path into the water, only to feel a hand patting his arm. Coco.

“She’ll be fine. She’s with her family now.”

Ernesto looked away. Even when he refused to talk with this crazy grandma, Coco continued. “But she won’t know if you don’t tell her.”

“What…?”

“Nada, nada…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you guys this fic featured BAMF!Coco XD I think I should make some comments on their relationship here. Ernesto knew Coco as a child, and in his mind he still sees her as such. Coco, being still a newbie in the Lands of the Dead, has a lot to learn... and Ernesto is the only familiar face she knows in this place. So you can imagine...
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> “Pinche vieja…” - "Damn old woman..."  
> Pinche - Damn, mean, stupid... it has several meanings but all negative.  
> "Cállate" - "Shut up!"  
> "...te lo aseguro.” - "...I assure you"  
> mi familia - my family  
> "Sí, claro" - "Yes, of course"  
> "Pinche hijo de la chingada!” - "Damn son of a bitch!", basically one of the worst insults in Mexico  
> Tía - Aunt  
> Mis amigos - My friends  
> Mija - My daughter  
> La Pirámide Nocturna - The Nightly Pyramid  
> Buenos tiempos - Good times  
> “¡¿Qué?!" - "What?!"  
> "de acuerdo?" - In this context, "alright?"  
> Nada - nothing
> 
> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007.
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!


	10. Notice Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

_“And I won't let you fall,_   
_I won't let you go..._   
_No matter where you are,_  
No matter where you are, I'll be there…!”

As the funicular reached the stop in the neighborhood of San Ángel, Héctor could hear a duet from afar. But he wasn’t here to listen to music. They had more important issues at hand.

“...Alright, remember the plan. We gotta find Joaquín. Big, broad, with a big moustache and an eyepatch, wears a militar purple suit quite often.” Héctor repeated to the rest of his family.

“I still think we should go to Manolo first.” Julio protested, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve heard good things about him...”

The place was packed with people. To find Joaquín would be difficult with this crowd… “Keep your eyes open.” Héctor prompted his family. He led the way with ease, as he could sneak through the smaller spaces between the audience. “Joaquín must be here. He’d never miss a chance to be seen in public.

“Do you see your friend over here…?” Imelda asked, looking at him. Héctor didn't need to look back to see the frown clouding her beautiful face, it was something graven in her words.

“Wait, wait…” Héctor separated his skull from the rest of his body and lifted it in the air. Too many skeletons… some young, several old, and many not using glass eyes or modern clothing. Julio was right: that San Ángel was one of the last areas sticking to the old customs of the Land of the Dead. What truly caught his eye was the couple that sung in the middle of the plaza. A man with a matador suit that played his guitar, and a woman, maybe his wife?, who sang along and danced for the entertainment of the audience.

What an image. Almost a century ago, he used to do exactly the same thing with Imelda. He’d love to stop by and talk to that couple, but they didn’t have the time to do so.

_“No matter where you are_

_No matter where you are_

_I'll be there, I'll be there…”_

As the song came to an end the crowd erupted in cheer. Give the performers’ apparent skill, Héctor was not surprised to hear people request an encore, cheering the name of... Manolo.

“So that’s Manolo Sánchez? I thought he was… taller.” he mumbled, with a mix of feelings he couldn’t put a finger on just yet. Manolo seemed to be a lot like him. Clearly older, sure, but not as old as Coco. Maybe he was just a bit younger than Imelda.

“Ha! Told you so! I KNEW we’d find him before we could find Joaquín!” Julio nudged Victoria, who let out a groan. “Come on, mija, I won this time.”

“Ugh, fine!” Victoria searched in her pocket and left a few coins in his hand.

“Guess that Manolo will do…” Héctor sighed. “But I know nothing about this guy, except… Wait! It’s Joaquín!”

The stage made a cracking noise when the soldier jumped on it, showing the same self-conceited attitude Héctor has witnessed a long time ago. The mustachioed man patted Manolo on the shoulder, and the matador returned the gesture. The spotlights fell over them once more, and Joaquín took the microphone, as the couple stood by his side.

“Buenas noches, amigos! My name is Joaquín Mondragón. My friends Manolo and María asked me to make the announcements of the upcoming events in San Ángel for the next months, and for me, it’s a great honor to be your Maestro de Ceremonias. Now, for this month…”

The audience cheered Joaquín’s name this time. As he began describing the following concerts that Manolo, María and other mariachis would perform, Héctor placed his skull back onto his body and gave Imelda a pointed look. “We’ve got a chance to talk with both of them now, but we need to grab their attention first. Any ideas?”

“Mmmh…” Imelda frowned, looking down. “I could throw a boot at them, but I don’t think they would be willing to help afterwards.”

“Maybe Imelda could sing!” Oscar suggested all of a sudden.

“Or ALL OF US could sing, even!” Felipe’s eyes sparkled at the prospect of an impromptu chorus. “Like in the Battle of the Bands en Día de Muertos!”

“We don't have instruments, only Héctor has a guitar.” Julio reminded them. “I mean…” Héctor caught a certain shyness in his voice. “I used to play the trumpet as a hobby in my youth. But I haven't played in decades. I stopped so I could marry Coco.”

Héctor felt an immediate connection to Julio. In all these months, his relationship with Coco’s husband had been one of mutual respect. He had listened many details of Julio's story: how Rosita and him had lost their parents, how Julio met Coco, their marriage and their life with Victoria and Elena… Until now, he didn't know what Coco had seen in this ever-so-nervous individual. Of course it was music. How could it not be? His Coco was a rebellious one. She might have embraced the ways of the shoemaker, but in her heart, many of her choices still clung to music - and by extension, to him.

Héctor reached for Julio's shoulder and squeezed it. “We’ll get you a trumpet, Julio. You can do it. I believe in you.” Then he looked up. “Óscar, Felipe, you two are very smart. Surely you can find something in this plaza that we can use.”

“Maybe we can find something on the stalls...” Felipe mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

“Chicos…” Victoria tried to interrupt.

“And in case we don't, we can make noise using trash cans…” Óscar rubbed his chin.

“Chicos, mirad!” Victoria grabbed both of the twins by the shoulders and pointed to a music band nearby.

Héctor’s smile grew, he would recognize those pink jackets anywhere. “Los Chachalacos! I know these guys, let me handle this…” He snuck past a few families and couples, then walked next to a few elders, and finally got out of the crowd. Héctor waved at the musicians, hoping they would remember him.

“Hola, amigos…!”

“Hey guys, look! Aren't you the guy who danced with the Poco Loco kid?”

Héctor felt his shoulders dropping in relief. They remembered him!

“You guys could have won - we only did because you left!”

“Heh, what a night, uh? You guys were pretty good too.” Undoubtedly, Los Chachalacos were nicer than Gustavo and his friends. If the circumstances were different, Héctor would love to chit chat with them. But he didn't have time. “Are you going to perform soon? Because, uh… my family needs some instruments, like, right now. Starting off with a trumpet.”

“Maybe a violin would be nice, too.” Victoria peeked behind him, and Héctor turned to her, mouth agape.

“You can play the violin?!”

“Self taught. Took that secret to the grave with me.” She muttered, with a hint of bashfulness mixed with embarrassment that made both Héctor and Julio laugh.

“Ay mija! You could have told us! We would understand…” Julio gave her a hug, and for a moment, a little smile filled her mouth.

If he closed his eyes for a second, Héctor could see in them the same love he felt toward his daughter. A tight sensation filled his ribcage.

“I didn't want to disappoint Mamá Imelda. That's why I never said it.” Victoria looked up to her abuela. Even in death, the fear of disappointing her was plastered all over her face.

“I'm not upset…” Imelda shook her head. “And much less with you, Victoria. If I’ve learned something this year, it was that banning music was a terrible idea. We Riveras are shoemakers… but music is in our bones too.” The look Imelda gave him that moment sent a warm sensation over his soul markings. Héctor wanted to say something, but the spotlights landed over the band, blinding the Riveras as well just for a moment.

“...and now, the concert you were waiting for! Los Chachalacos!” Joaquín announced, leaving the microphone on stage.

“It's showtime!” The main trumpetist of the band exclaimed, raising his instrument. “Lo siento, amigo, maybe later. Vamos, Chachalacos!”

As the band walked to the stage, Héctor clenched his fists. Joaquín and his friends were about to leave! But what could he do?! He looked around quickly, until his eyes landed on the microphone. A memory of the Battle of the Bands flashed through his mind: the moment where Miguel and him were finishing ‘Un Poco Loco’ with the best gritos he had released in decades.

“That's it!!” Héctor jumped in joy. If this didn't work, nothing would.

He ran to the closest lamppost, climbed up to it - and before the Chachalacos could begin their performance, he released the loudest grito he could muster. The crowd fell silent, and Héctor took off his straw hat, waving at his old acquaintance. “Joaquín! We need your help!”

When the eyepatched skeleton turned around, Héctor knew all would be well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 3 Leches make their debut! I assume they are pretty much celebrities in the Land of the Dead, so it wouldn't be that easy to reach them.  
> I'm holding a Q&A in my personal blog when you have any questions about the story, here's the link: https://the-garden-of-secrets.tumblr.com/post/170135075128/historia-de-dos-guitarras-qa
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> mija - my daughter  
> “Buenas noches, amigos!" - "Good evening, my friends!"  
> Maestro de Ceremonias - Master of ceremonies/marshal  
> “Chicos, mirad!” - "Boys, look!"  
> “Hola, amigos…!” - "Hi friends!"  
> “Lo siento, amigo" - "Sorry, my friend"  
> "Vamos" - Let's go


	11. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

“Wait! Where’s Dante?!”

A flurry of petals clouded his vision, and next thing Miguel knew, they were standing outside La Muerte’s castle. It was a tree-like structure that seemed larger than life.

“I wouldn’t worry much for him, chamaco. Look.” La Muerte let him on the ground, and Dante came out right behind La Muerte, along with the chihuahuas. And all of them had changed into their alebrije colors!

“Oh, amigo… I’m so glad you’re OK.” Miguel let out a sigh of relief. He gave Dante a hug. Probably the dogs stepped on La Muerte’s dress before she took them to their castle.

La Muerte messed gently with his hair. “Vamos, Miguel. We need to talk. That map I’m going to show you… holds some secrets that shouldn’t leave my palace.” She knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek. “Can I trust you to keep that information a secret?”

That raspiness in her voice was back, it was hard to miss. What made her so sad? Whatever La Muerte was hiding, it wasn’t a good thing. “I’ll do my best.” he promised.

A smile graced her face as she straightened. “Gracias, muchacho. Let’s go inside.”

Miguel nodded and followed her steps. It surprised him to to see that the castle was even larger on the inside. There were plenty of heart shaped doors, gold and red embellishments all over the structures. The ground was covered in mosaics and tiles that seemed to describe stories, though he couldn’t identify the order in which the events unfolded. Especially when the ground was made of floating paths! He was about to ask La Muerte to hold his hand when the paths came together, creating a single one.

“Your castle is nothing like the homes of the dead…” he pointed out. “I was afraid of falling and the paths came together before I said anything, how…?”

“My castle is an extension of myself, Miguel. And you tend to step back and clutch onto something when you’re scared. I noticed when you were about to hold my hand.” she answered, and closed her eyes. “I can feel and see everything that happens in my home, because it’s part of me. And I think you’re going to meet some of my children very soon…”

“Who…?” Miguel was confused. He was about to ask more, when two young gods appeared on the corridor. Apparently, they were twins - a boy and a girl, though the girl seemed to be slightly younger. She had black hair, green eyes and brown sugar skin delicately framed in a black and green dress. Though what Miguel found most impressive were her golden wings made of marigold flowers.

“Mamá!” The girl ran to her, and La Muerte picked her up with ease.

“Ichpo, mi niña...” La Muerte kissed her cheek. “I’m home at last. Sorry for keeping you waiting. I had to do something.”

“Where’s Papá?” The other twin god approached them. “Is he coming home tonight?”

“Xochi…” Her voice sounded apologetic. “No. He’s still tracking down your sister.”

Xochi was a tall god with features similar to his sister’s - but, unlike her, his eyes were red, and he didn’t have any wings. But his red robes, the gold earrings and the marigolds on his hair made up for it. He still looked regal.

Miguel looked away when his eyes met Xochi’s. The god gave him a piercing glare that made his cheeks flush. “S-sorry, didn’t mean to stare…”

“A living kid?” Xochi walked up to him and poked him on the chest. “Sartana could be wreaking havoc again and you pick up another campeón for your apuestas? Not cool, Mamá.”

“I find him cute.” Ichpō flew to them and changed her size to match Miguel’s. When she extended her hand toward him, Miguel accepted the gesture - just to find himself caught in a hug. “Mamá, can I play with him? Ándale siiii?”

“No… puedo… respirar…” Miguel whined, giving La Muerte a “Save me” look.

“Ichpō, let him go. He isn’t here to play with you.”

“Aw… You’re no fun...” Ichpo released him from her soul-crushing hold, and Miguel stepped back right away, his cheeks getting even redder. He found it kind of sweet that this goddess wanted to befriend him, but...

“I-I-I’m sorry, I just came with your mom to save my great-grandmother. Maybe later?” He couldn’t promise anything, but given La Muerte had stopped time in the Land of the Living, there was no reason for him to go back home right away once he completed his mission.

“Later.” Ichpo joined her hands, then smiled to her mom. “Mamá, what is this wager for?”

“There is no wager, mi flor.” La Muerte patted her head, then beckoned the three of them to follow her. “But Sartana never works alone, and Miguel is related to the woman who vanished from our lands. I felt he could help. Call it una corazonada.”

Xochi shook his head and pointed to Dante and the chihuahuas, who kept messing around. “I think those alebrijes can help more than a simple human. I mean, they already got the snouts to do so.”

“Alebrijes can do a lot, Xochi, but they can’t function without the souls they’re meant to guide.” La Muerte said, smiling to Miguel. “They need each other. Trabajo en equipo.”

Miguel smiled in return. He could see that the atmosphere between La Muerte and her children was no different from the dynamics you’d find in any other family. But he could feel something lingering between them, as if there was something they were avoiding, and he didn’t dare to ask, either.

But Ichpo did. “Looks like a family reunion is coming. Do you think Itzpa will feel good enough to see Sartana again…?”

“Sheesh! Ichpo!” Xochi scolded her. “We don’t talk about her in front of strangers!”

“Perdón!” she apologised quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s… it’s OK. Until today I didn’t know much about you guys.” Miguel tried to help Itchpo. His fingers still curled like they did every time he was afraid of making things worse. “Only what I’ve learned in school, and it isn’t much.”

“Of course. Most people have forgotten about us in the Land of the Living. What could a kid like you know about the lives of the gods?” Xochi was bitter about it, the cynicism was practically dripping from every word he said.

Unable to give him a proper response, Miguel turned to face la Muerte. She opened a skull-shaped door that led to a dark room with a round opening on the top. It was similar to the sinkhole where Ernesto’s bodyguards had thrown him into - but without water. The only piece of furniture present in the room was a strange round table… Except it wasn’t a circle. It was another skull.

“What is this place?” Miguel asked, leaning close to Dante. In this moment, the glowing colors of his body were something comforting to him.

“We are in the Sala de la Rosa de los Vientos.” La Muerte explained, pressing her hand over the rose symbol placed on the forehead of the skull. The stone started to glow, and a sparkly, silvery mist came out of the eyes sockets and the mouth of the skull. The mist covered the table in a few seconds.

“Oh, this is going to be good! Mira, mira, Miguel!” Ichpo took Miguel by the arm and pushed him toward the table. He was insecure at first, but her touch was gentler this time. If he ignored the markings on her cheeks and the marigold wings, she’d look like a girl his age. Why was he staring at her, again? Sure, she was pretty, but he hadn't come here to play with her. He had to focus. Like, now!

Miguel shook his head and turned his attention back to the table. His eyes grew wide in surprise.

The mist was starting to clear, revealing a huge map of the Land of the Dead. And it was bigger than he could have possibly imagined! And there was not only one kingdom, but… several? Each land touched a circle in the middle that released a dim light.

“We are here.” La Muerte pressed a finger over the Land of the Remembered. Her castle stood out, like a papel picado figurine, along with four wood figurines: Ichpo, Xochi, La Muerte… and himself!

“Hey, that’s me!” Miguel pointed to it. “Then… where’s my family?”

La Muerte ran her hand over the map of her kingdom, and a faint glow appeared under her palm. Immediately, wooden figurines of all the Riveras popped out, along with another three he had never seen: a soldier, a dancer and a bullfighter.

“Looks like your Papá Héctor just made some new friends; Miguel. That’s the neighborhood of San Ángel. We’ll go there.” La Muerte said, getting ready to leave.

“I want to see where Papá is!” Ichpo said, running her hand over the map. This time, more locations and names popped out. Miguel leaned closer to La Muerte when a dark country came into view. A winged god figurine flew over it, riding a lava snake. He could also see a lady with butterfly wings sitting next to a snake-shaped castle.

“Xibalba…” La Muerte whispered.

“What is Itzpa doing in Papá's castle?” Itchpo stepped back from the table.

Those names meant nothing to Miguel. But there was something else. The name of that mysterious place made him clutch the handle of Chicharrón's guitar.

“Land… of the Forgotten?!” Miguel gasped in a half-breath. He looked up to La Muerte. Was this the secret she wanted him to keep? “I thought everything ended in the Final Death! What is this?”

“Ugh, Ichpo, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you.” Xochi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glared at Miguel and cracked his knuckles. “Now I’ll have to kill him and pray Tío Chamuco wants him in his prison.”

“No one is going kill anyone, Xochi!” La Muerte stepped in between them. “Miguel es mi campeón. As such, you have to respect him.”

“But Mom, what about our secret?”

La Muerte pressed a kiss on her son’s forehead. “You know as much as I do that we couldn’t keep it forever. Especially now that Sartana returned.”

“I don’t want another human to hurt our family.” Xochi gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “I…”

Miguel walked carefully toward the young god. This was a risky move, but something in his heart told him to talk to him. Maybe it was because he could see himself on Xochi. The same fear he felt when he found out about Ernesto's crime, now he could see it on the god’s face.

“I don’t want to hurt your family. Lo juro por mi vida.” he whispered, giving him a look that showed no hesitation. “I love my family too. And I know what it feels like when a bad guy hurts someone you love and you can’t do anything to change the past. Xochi, I… I don’t know who hurt your family. But I can promise you, I’m not that person.”

Xochi frowned at him, and Miguel tried to stay firm in his convictions. It was hard not to tremble or look away when the deity studied him so carefully.

“You are still a Rivera. One of your ancestors hurt my sister and tore my family apart. Don’t think I think poorly of you just because you’re human, Miguel. It’s because your family holds secretos you still ignore. Ask your Mamá Imelda, or your Tíos Óscar and Felipe. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

“What…?”

“I’m not going to be the one spilling the beans. Adiós!” Xochi turned around and vanished, leaving a trail of red dahlias behind.

Miguel stood frozen on the spot, shocked at such revelation. He wasn't sure if he heard all of that well. “Qué… qué demonios? What just happened?”

Ichpo stood by his side, sighing. “He was very close to our sister Sartana and despises humans because one of your ancestors caused her to go loca.”

“W-WHAT?! Who?!” Miguel’s mind was racing. He couldn’t imagine Papá Héctor doing it, not in life, and definitely not in death. But… Maybe this didn’t have anything to do with Papá Héctor.

Xochi had mentioned his great-great-grandmother and his great-great-uncles. When he thought of it… what did he know about their past? His ofrenda started with Mamá Imelda, but there was nothing before her. Which couldn’t be possible. Surely there had to be someone. Mamá Imelda wouldn’t forget her parents, would she…?

Miguel clenched his fists. He looked at Ichpo and La Muerte, who gave him sad looks.

“It will be better when you ask her directly, Miguel.” The elder goddess said, leading Miguel back to the table. “There’s something more we need to check.”

La Muerte ran her hand over the map one last time, and two new lands came into view: The Lands of the Unknown and the Cursed. And in the former, four wooden figurines appeared. He didn’t know who the two god-like ladies were. But Miguel could recognize the other two. A musician he’d rather forget, and a kind old lady with white braids. The image of her was enough to make Miguel forget about Xochi’s words… for now.

“Mamá Coco!”

“There she is.” La Muerte crossed her arms, smirking. “Time for a family reunion.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Itchpo, Xochi and Itzpa are based in Aztec deities. Here's their wikipedia pages if you want learn more about them!  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xochiquetzal --> Itchpo  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xochipilli ----> Xochi  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Itzpapalotl ---->Itzpa  
> Edit: My dear friend Chiocetta drew the godly twins in chibi style! Take a look!  
> Itchpo ---> https://www.dropbox.com/s/t49aulekguudvxn/Chibi_Itchpo.png?dl=0  
> Xochi ---> https://www.dropbox.com/s/z8wagzqxhe87vi4/Chibi_Xochi.png?dl=0  
> I did some dolls in DollDivine so you can see how Itzpa looks like. The doll doesn't show it, but Itzpa has flames as soul markings on her cheeks. Bonus, an older!Xochi doll: https://www.dropbox.com/s/neb3lvbd2kzaotb/Itzpa%20and%20Xochi.jpg?dl=0
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> amigo - friend  
> "Gracias, muchacho" - Thank you, kid  
> Mamá - Mom  
> Papá - Dad  
> mi campeón - my champion  
> apuestas - bets/wagers  
> "Ándale síiii?" - In this context, "pleaseeeee"  
> "No puedo respirar." - "I can't breath."  
> mi flor - my flower  
> corazonada - hunch  
> Trabajo en equipo - teamwork  
> Perdón - Sorry  
> Sala de la Rosa de los Vientos - Room of the Compass Rose  
> "Mira!" - "Look!"  
> Tío - uncle  
> "Lo juro por mi vida.” - I swear on my life  
> secretos - secrets  
> adiós - bye  
> Qué… qué demonios? - What... what the hell?  
> loca - crazy


	12. Mockery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

As her aunt locked the door behind them, Sartana let out a sigh of worry. La Noche had seen only half of her problems. Because losing beauty, she could live with that. But growing old - that was something unnatural. She brought a bony hand to her wig and caressed it. To think she had lost all of her hair and now she had to live like any other skeleton of the four kingdoms… it made her wince. 

“So, mija… are you going to tell me why you came to me? You know that your mother would be pissed if she knew you’re in my domain.”

“Not here, Tía Noche. I want us to be alone. Only then I’ll tell you everything, ¿sale?” she answered, taking off her hat. 

“...Muy bien.”

Sartana followed La Noche through the corridors with her head lowered, silently thanking her for not pushing the subject. She’d rather avoid anyone figuring out her issues, especially when she wasn’t planning to stay in this kingdom for long. 

When they reached the throne room, Sartana allowed herself to indulge in the view before her. This place welcomed the visitors with several statues and carvings of the nocturnal goddess and her fiery husband, each one emerging from a pond that covered the ground of the room. Right in the middle, a richly decorated throne made of gold awaited its queen. La Noche took a seat, before creating a path of stones for Sartana. Such kind gesture showed that her aunt still remembered that she couldn’t walk on water. But that was as nice as La Noche could get in private. 

“Hablemos en plata, my dear.” La Noche’s voice changed, going from warm to openly mocking. This was her real nature, Sartana knew it well. “I heard that Papi Balbi and Mami Muerte banished you to the Land of the Living. Some spell gone wrong, huh?”

“You know the story…” Sartana frowned. She stopped walking, arms crossed. “Then I guess you don’t want to listen to my version of what happened.”

“I could listen if you can make it any interesting for me. I am very bored in my realm and I could use a distraction.”

Sartana shook her head. Centuries could go by and her aunt still wouldn’t grow out of that holier-than-thou complex.

She stepped forward and narrowed her eyes. “You know who's the one to blame. That stupid, no-good mamón!” Her voice shattered, as her mind brought back old memories. “I loved him, I gave him everything! And then, he... He tricked me, used me, and dumped me when… ugh...” Sartana was practically shaking by the end of her speech. She couldn't carry on.

La Noche wasn't too impressed. She laid on her throne as if it was a hammock, giving her an amused look. “Poor, poor Sartana… _‘Teen goddess gets knocked up by resident troublemaker of Miracle City’_. Good thing that Mamá and Papá made sure to cover up everything for you and most humans don't know about Machete and Django, uh?” she finished, a derisive tone in all her words.

“Cállate! Don't talk about them like that!” Sartana gritted her teeth. “You don't know my parents like I do!”

La Noche smirked and straightened her position. “Órale! Now this is rich! You still love your parents after all this time! How pathetic, hahahahaha!”

Sartana froze on the spot. Did she love them? She told Ernesto she didn't need them. And yet…

 

* * *

_ Xibalba scoops her into his arms all the time. _

_ “Papá! I want to fly like you!” _

_ His smile is warm, and loving. It’s a smile he uses just for his family. “Then you have to open your wings, like this! And move them very fast!” _

_ “Así, Papá?” she asks, doing her best to follow his instructions. After a few failed attempts she can do it on her own. _

_ “Sí! You’re doing so well!” Her Papá is so proud, that he starts to fly as well, chasing after her. “Catrina, come here! Our niñita is flying!” _

_ Then her mother comes and laughs, and marigolds bloom all over the place. _

* * *

 

They were so happy back then _... _

Sartana left a hand over her ribcage and wondered if that tight sensation within it was a broken heart. It didn't feel like losing the one she loved. Nostalgia, maybe.

That same hand clenched into a fist.

 

* * *

 

_ Itzpa’s butterfly wings lose their vivid gold and purple colors. Her black eyes turn white. Her smile vanishes, leaving only a thin line. _

_ “Itzpa…?” _

_ Three words change everything. _

_ “...Who are you?” Itzpa looks at her hands. Her eyes become glassy, her voice grows tired. “...And who am I?” _

_ On that fateful night, Sartana only wanted to destroy her own memories about that man. But the spell didn't go as planned. She cries for help, as a wave of magic escapes from the castle, covering all the Land of The Remembered in gold dust. _

_ “Mamá! Papá!” _

_ By the time they arrive, Itzpa can't stand on her feet. Sartana weeps, holding her in what she suspects will be their last embrace. _

_ “What have you done, Sartana?!” Xibalba yells out of despair, his eyes are bloodshot. _

_ “It was an accident! I didn't want to…!” _

_ La Muerte pulls her sister out of her arms. She touches her forehead, then looks at her husband. “Her life energy is dropping! We need to take her to the Candle Maker!” _

* * *

 

That was the last time she saw Itzpa.

Her voice came out in a low whisper, as if she was revealing a secret. “My parents banished me to the Land of the Living. And the powers over them stripped me of most my powers. It was a fair punishment for what I did to my sister, I never should have used that spell over The Book of Life.” 

Sartana started to walk towards her aunt, her steps slow. She hid her hands behind her back and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she let her claws grow. She didn't want to attack her aunt, but... After being treated like a living joke, she didn't feel guilty anymore.  _ She’ll get what she deserves _ .

“Suck it up and get over it. A lo hecho, pecho.” La Noche kept taunting her, as she looked down at her own nails. Sartana could tell her aunt didn't suspect anything. “You stole the Book and asked your sister to help you with that spell. She lost her memories. And with it, the memories of all your mother’s subjects were damaged as well. All because of you, my dear.” 

“It’s true, but that’s not the reason why I’m here.” Sartana looked down. She revealed her hands and the sharp claws growing from them. 

The mocking expression on La Noche’s face was replaced with disbelief. “What… what are you doing, Sartana? You aren’t going to attack me, right? We’re… we’re family!”

“TOO LATE!!!!” 

She let out a banshee scream. 

Jumping over to her aunt, the younger goddess went for the kill, her sharp claws ready to strike. In a split second, La Noche summoned her Moon Staff in her hands to protect herself.  _ Of course, magic.  _ Sartana knew that the starry-eyed deity wasn’t exactly built for fighting. 

She managed to knock the staff off her hands with a punch to her relative’s hand. The weapon fell to the pond, but it was too light to sink. The pain of being hit by an equal was enough to leave La Noche stunned for three precious seconds. 

This was all the time Sartana needed.

Before La Noche could fight back, Sartana toppled her down. Her claws went for her aunt’s neck, drowning her breath in a crushing hold. 

Even shocked by the attack, the elder goddess tried to escape, wrestling to rip those claws from her neck. But her body was trapped by her niece’s legs. She couldn’t get away!

Sartana knew deities like La Noche couldn’t be killed by simple choking, they were more powerful than that. But now she had her aunt exactly where she wanted, struggling to breath. That show off attitude was gone. Her eyes were wide in horror.  

La Noche couldn’t die, but that didn’t make choking any less painful. Sartana knew that well. She squeezed her neck even tighter, drawing blood to make a point. 

“I am  _ dying _ , Tía Noche. Feeding off the energy left in those poor unfortunate souls of the Land of the Forgotten and the Cursed can no longer heal me.” She leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “So… I’m going to take your Moon Staff and use its magic to start feeding on the living. Believe me, it’s nothing personal. I just want to keep existing.”

“S-Sar… ta… na… N-no...” 

“Adiós, Tía Noche.”

Sartana lifted her aunt’s head and slammed it against the golden surface of the throne. She winced as a cracking sound broke the silence of the room. The light in La Noche’s eyes vanished, her consciousness slipped away. A trail of blood stained her white locks and fell on the water, along with her crown of feathers and stars.

Sartana retracted her claws slowly and let out a sigh. To be honest, hurting her aunt was the last thing she wanted to do - but she needed the Moon Staff. And knowing La Noche, she’d never have given it to her. It represented half of her existence, after all. 

Heavy steps guided her, as she walked away from the throne. Sartana picked the staff up and looked at her aunt one last time. 

“Lo siento.” she whispered, before she started to run to the window. 

Now she had to pick up Ernesto and Coco. The first step of her plan was complete.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT. The chapter that makes this story explicit. If any of you watched "El Tigre", sure you know that Sartana can kick butt and will do it if given the chance... But she's also quite cunning herself. You can see this chapter as a chess game where the true personalities of La Noche and Sartana are revealed. What will happen when El Chamuco finds out about this? Nothing good, I assure you. 
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> mija - my daughter  
> Tía Noche - Aunt Night  
> "¿sale?" - In this context, "alright?"  
> Muy bien - Very well  
> Hablemos en plata - This expression means "Put all the cards on the table", as in, "Let's be honest with each other". It isn't a very friendly expression, as it is frequently used when you're hinting the person you're talking to might not be honest with you.  
> mamón - arrogant / haughty  
> "Cállate!" - "Shut up!"  
> Órale - interjection of wonder or surprise  
> Sí - Yes  
> Niñita - Little girl  
> A lo hecho, pecho - This expressions means "You did a bad thing, you gotta accept it". It's pretty close to "Suck it up."  
> Adiós - Bye  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry


	13. Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Dark clouds covered the moon, hiding the Land of the Unknown under a pitch black sheet. The soldiers who greeted them so fiercely earlier with their spears retreated to their homes. As he walked down the streets lit up by humble torches, Ernesto watched them reunite with their families. Some children played with balls, others with sticks. There were also many old and young women cooking, creating fabrics with wool and fibers, or distributing fires on the torches all over the area.

They were so different from the skeletons from the Land of the Remembered. So blue and primitive, in a way. He frowned. Something about them tugged at his heartstrings. Maybe it was the smile of a woman welcoming her husband home, a baby’s laugh, or the old grandma scolding a little girl with her chancla. His eyes darted back to ‘his’ grandma soon enough, though. The old woman walked from one stall to another, distracting herself - and him - from their objective.

“Don’t get too sidetracked, Coco.” he interrupted her conversation with a man in the stalls. Ernesto gave her a quizzical gaze. Did she have to make this difficult for him?

“I can do whatever I want, Ernesto. You’re no boss of me.” she retorted, taking her time as she left three coins in the vendor’s hand.

“We don’t have time for shopping.” Ernesto tapped his foot on the ground.

“At least let me have this!” Coco walked up to him and set a strange, very small pink cap on her head. “Won’t you let this poor old grandma enjoy her afterlife?”

“You’re not my grandma...” He crossed his arms and his gaze shifted back to the little girl from earlier, being comforted by her mother. Or the lovey-dovey couple. Anything but meet her gaze.

“Eso es. The mariachi with no family, that’s you.” Coco retorted, wearing a cheeky grin as she stretched her arms over her head as if the chains didn’t bother her.

Ernesto pinched what was left of the bridge where once his nose had been. As much as he hated to admit it… she was right.

“You could have had one if it wasn’t for your horrible choices.” The elderly lady walked past him, then picked up the jewels on display on a different stall. “Mi Papá did love you as a brother… I’ll never understand why you went and killed him. Why did you do that?”

“I… I had to  _seize my moment_.” He answered, feeling the convicted tone in his voice frail as a cocoon. Ernesto looked at her. Almost a year ago, he was as cocky as he could be about such statement. But now…

He could see Héctor’s soul markings on her cheekbones. The same smile. Those sweet eyes, that soft hair framing her skull, all of those were Héctor’s features.  _Héctor…_

His mind travelled to Santa Cecilia, to a dark evening and a baby abandoned at the doors of the church, just like he was. A weeping baby with a name tag, Héctor, who began to smile the moment he picked him up into his arms. Those eyes that sparkled with so much joy.

How long it had been since?

Coco shook her head. “Being that falso won’t get you places. Especially with Sartana.”

The musician felt his soul markings flare at such idea, revealing a light glow before his eyes darkened in rage. “I don’t have anything to do with her! Nada en absoluto, ¿me oyes? Our relationship is strictly professional.”

“Sí, I hear you. But I think you’re lying to yourself. Sé como la miras.”

Ernesto groaned and rubbed his sleeve a few times, as his thoughts shifted to Sartana. The beautiful skeletal lady with mismatched teeth and red eyes. They had been working together only for a short time… but she was really closed off about her past. His questions were often met with silence, sometimes a light strum of her guitar. But nothing else.

“No hago nada de eso. Why would I stop and gawk at her?” One lie. “I just… worry about that old bag of bones, leading the way without telling us where or why.” One truth. “What can be that bad to say that she can't talk about it with her aunt when we are around?” The musician finally pouted, kicking the umpteenth stone into the water . “She chose me as her 'champion’. I thought I’d get a bigger role to play, and yet…!”

Coco seemed amused as she caressed the flowers hanging from one of the pyramids. “Cálmate, 'Nesto. You sure don’t know women… Sure she has her reasons. When women are quiet, they often carry some baggage they don’t feel ready to share, sabes?”

“What’s the point of choosing me, then?” He paused and looked at Coco crossly. Why was he telling her this?! In a moment of weakness, he wondered if she was up to some universal truth he hadn’t seen yet.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone…” Coco answered quietly, joining his hands before her chest. “Como tú.”

If looks could kill, the infamous mariachi probably would burn his prisoner to ashes. He held his chin up in a proud stance and crossed his arms. “I'm fine,  _gracias_!”

“First stage, denial.” Coco laid her back against the wall. “You do like company, even if you don't want to admit it.”

Ernesto raised his index finger, ready to start arguing again, when a crashing noise emerged from the golden pyramid. The clouds swirled around the top of the building, the soil under his feet trembled, and the unknown souls cried in fear. And then he saw her. Sartana leapt from the last floor, breaking a window, and spread her dark wings.

 **“SARTANA!!”**  He screamed her name.

For a second, he feared she wouldn’t make it, but she did. Sartana descended from the sky like a hawk. In the blink of an eye, the goddess landed by his side and handed him a silver staff, crowned by a sparkly moon figurine.

“We got what we needed! We have to go! Protect that staff with your life!” She commanded, as she lifted her guitar over her head.

“The Moon Staff!” One of the warriors screamed.  **“GET THEM!!”**

“Sartana…!” Ernesto clutched the staff close to his ribcage and recoiled. Deep down, he was too much of a coward for a physical fight.

“I can handle this!” She screamed, before she fiercely strummed her guitar. A red light came out of the instrument and flew toward several of the warriors, tying itself around their skulls. Their cries of fear died out as their golden eyes turned red.

Maniacal laughter shook Sartana’s body as she threw her arms up into the air. “Now you are MINE! Fight for me! Don’t let anyone get close to us!”

Ernesto saw the dismay etched on the soldiers’ faces, as they were forced to block and dodge attacks from former partners and friends. Some ribs broke, several bones fell to the water, and general confusion fell over the square. The goddess strummed her guitar one more time, and a sonic wave made all their enemies fall to their knees, scattering their remains all over the place.

Even then several soldiers tried to put themselves together to chase them - but her possesed allies were just as fast!

Amidst it all, Ernesto felt Sartana's hand dragging him out of the fray.

“We have to go, quick!” She shouted, releasing him. The chords of her guitar vibrated again and the red magic suffocated the flames of every torch lighting up the path she led them through.

The musician was speechless for a moment, his eyes wide as saucers. Her guitar was magical, that explained  _everything_! He grabbed Coco’s arm to pull her along. The old woman didn’t even complain - and if she did, he didn’t hear it. He only could look to Sartana now.

“Where to?!” he gasped, running as fast as he could.

“Just follow me and don’t look back!”

An playful smirk followed the nod he gave her as response.  _As if I‘ve ever done such a thing_ , he thought. He hadn’t done it in life, much less in death.

And he wouldn’t start now… right?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long! I've been busy with papers for my academy!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. Hope I'm keeping Ernesto in character? When he was friends with Héctor all their lives, maybe he wasn't an absolute asshole all the time.  
> In case anyone wonders why the vendor doesn't seem put off when he sees Coco chained, it's because the Aztecs (my main inspiration for the Land of the unknown) was a warrior civilisation. I assume war prisoners were often turned into slaves, and by extension, the vendor thinks Coco is a slave, even when she isn't. She's my sassy queen.
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Eso es - That's it!  
> Mi Papá - My Dad  
> falso - fake  
> "Nada en absoluto, ¿me oyes?" - "Nothing at all, you hear me?"  
> Sí - Yes  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> "Sé como la miras" - I know how you look at her  
> "No hago nada de eso" - "I don't do any of that"  
> "Como tú" - "Like you"  
> "Cálmate" - "Calm down"


	14. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

The two families gathered in the Sánchez-Mondragón hacienda. Posters of the famous bullfighters decorated the walls, and marigold flowers embellished every window ledge. Outside, four alebrijes, a winged jaguar, a bull, a horse and a pig, enjoyed the warm sunlight of a new day.

Imelda stood at the living room’s doorframe, by Rosita’s side. The matriarch kept frowning at everyone who addressed her without any relevant information.  Rosita was talking to Luis and Anita, Manolo’s grandparents, in hopes to find out more. Julio and Victoria were in the attic with Joaquín, searching for the Sánchez family album. One of the very few books in the Land of the Dead that contained information about the gods; mainly notes and scribbles that Manolo, María and Joaquín had written after their adventures.

Imelda’s brothers were nowhere to be found, just like the Adelita twins. Knowing them, those four ran off somewhere. And Héctor? He clicked with Manolo right away, and they chit chatted non-stop ever the second they got time to.

“As if it wasn’t enough with Héctor, now we have two pinche musicians to worry about!” she complained and crossed her arms.

Imelda felt a hand on her shoulder and shot a cross look at its owner. Only to come face to face with Rosita's soft gaze. “Vamos, mamá Imelda, it will be fine. Maybe it’s a good thing Manolo is distracting him. He doesn’t look as distraught as earlier. And you already know Papá Héctor. Without any distraction, he would be panicking…”

“Tienes razón…” She gazed at Héctor,  thinking of all the years he spent in Shantytown. It was hard to stay mad at him when she knew most of his friends there were bound to succumb to the Final Death. Having a friend who wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon would do him some good.

Untangling her arms, Imelda let out a sigh and looked up to the stairs. Maybe she could check on Victoria and Julio...

Before she could set a foot on the stairs though, a bony hand pulled her away from the rung of the ladder. It was María, who carried a tray with tequila on it. “You look so stressed, Imelda. Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen? You know, to get your mind off things for a minute or two?”

“You would be stressed too if your daughter was kidnapped in front of you!” Imelda barked and pulled her arm back away from her. For a quiet moment, Imelda watched Maria’s eyes clouding with worry. “I’m… I’m sorry, María. You’re right. Being this stressed over Coco won’t help her.”

Rosita took one of the tequilas and drank before speaking. “Mamá Imelda, you should go with María. It’s not like we can do much without knowing more about the gods first. Besides, it’s not like they can kill her again, right?”

“Rosita!” Luis scolded her. Imelda smirked - this man could be a gentleman.

“Lo siento… It was a bad joke. I guess the stress is getting to me too.” Rosita apologised.

“Está bien. Stay here with Luis and Anita, and let me know if mis hermanos come back, sí?” The regret in her eyes melted Imelda’s heart right away. She reached to give a faint squeeze to her arm.

Rosita nodded. It seemed she was about to say something more, but four members of the Sanchez familia arrived in that moment, cutting her off...

“Ah, what a magnificent corrida!” Jorge wiped the dust from the rapier attached to his arm with the fabric of his pants.

“Buenos días familia! I brought churros ~” Carmelo announced, before chewing off the biggest. Jorge fake-coughed a quiet “Savage” right next.

“Nothing like a toreo!” Carlos exclaimed, putting down his rapiers on the table. It was then his eyes fell upon her. “Imelda!?”

“Imelda!!” Carmen covered her mouth, choking back a gasp.

...Three famous bullfighters, Carmelo, Jorge, and Carlos Sánchez, and the wife of the latter, Carmen.

Heads turned. Silence swept over the room. Everyone was staring! Imelda joined Carmen and Carlos and linked her arms with them. She gave María a pointed look.

“Take us to the kitchen, _please_.” Not even that ‘please’ could hide how uncomfortable she felt. She’d rather avoid discussing her issues in front of her family - especially Héctor...

Héctor got up right away. The way he held his breath made his ribcage swell. She hoped it wasn’t worry filling it, but wishful thinking. Especially when his concern was voiced out loud. “Imelda…?”

Her hands clenched into fists. He deserved to know. “Come with us, Héctor,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes just yet. She needed to prepare herself.

Truth to be told, she should have seen this coming, but a part of her had clung to the vague possibility of not running into Carlos and Carmen. Once María closed the door after them, Imelda knew she had to face the estranged relationship she had with them, whether she wanted to or not.

“Let’s sit down,” Carmen said, beckoning them to take seat around the kitchen’s table. “Imelda… I don’t want to be rude, but you owe us an explanation.”

Imelda took a deep breath. “I know, tía Carmen. I know,” she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the table and the beautiful wood lines decorating it. Meeting Carmen’s upset gaze would break her, and she couldn’t allow herself to do so, for Coco’s sake.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the stupor drawing an ‘Oh’ in Héctor’s mouth. Of course, he couldn’t keep quiet. “Wait a minute, so we’re family? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? Is this another of the things I missed out because of my death…?”

“Sí, somos familia.” Carmen crossed her arms. “I am one of her father’s sisters - which makes us Imelda’s tía and tío. And in all these years, you never visited us!”

“What?! But Julio and the others knew other members of your family! Don’t they know we’re actually related?” Héctor straightened and leaned forward, staring at his newfound relatives in awe. Under different circumstances, his bewilderment would be adorable, but now...

“Mi amor…” Imelda chewed the lower part of her jaw, trying to think of a way to explain the situation. She got up and touched his shoulder, gently coaxing him to return to his seat. “Our marriage was so short, that there were things I never could tell you. Remember our wedding? It was just us, my brothers, and… you-know-who.” She refused to mention his name. Her hand released Héctor and returned to her lap.

“I remember. Being an orphan, I didn’t have any family to bring. But you… ” Héctor fell silent, and Imelda thanked him silently for doing so. Good thing her husband knew how to be diplomatic when the situation called for it.

“Like I told you that day… I cut ties with my family because I didn’t want to follow the path they had decided for me.” She grabbed handfuls of the purple fabric of her skirt. Squeezing them didn’t comfort her really, but it gave her something to stay focused. “And after your death, Héctor… cutting ties with my uncles was part of the music ban.”

“Only because I’m a dancer, en serio?!” Carmen banged one of her fists on the table. That gesture made Imelda flinch. “We’re family, mija! And you didn’t even attend Manolo’s wedding! How can you explain that?!”

“Héctor and me were struggling with money. We couldn’t travel to San Ángel when all our savings went to Coco.” Her voice was apologetic, weak, even. Something abnormal to her.

“Bueno, I can forgive that.” Carlos crossed his arms. “But that doesn’t explain why you have been avoiding us for so long in death, too.”

“Not to mention, it looks like our families don’t seem to know we’re actually related…” Héctor trailed off once he caught Imelda's glare.

She sighed and slowly opened her fists. “I… I was afraid of running into my Papá”, she admitted. “He never approved of my marriage with Héctor.” She looked up to her husband, a reddish glow of embarrassment on her soul markings. “I tried to find you. Six months after your last letter, I was so desperate that I sent a letter to my father. He sent the twins to help me with the search, saying that he couldn’t leave his city without protection. And he also said that, if I accepted my role in the family, he’d forgive me and…” Her voice shattered. “...act as if our marriage never happened.”

“Imelda…” The warmth in his smile made her mouth echo the same expression, and grew as he touched her cheekbone.

“I wanted to forget you, but… not like that. Maybe, deep down… I just hoped you'd return… _someday_ …” she uttered those words, almost as if she was revealing a secret.

His voice came out, soft and warm. “Gracias, Imelda.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Carmen looked down and joined her hands on the table. Now everything clicked into place. “So that's why you kept avoiding us. You had personal issues with your father... Everyone else in your family could visit because Simón wouldn't know of their existence.”

María, who remained silent until now, released a whistle. The noise startled Imelda, who gave her a confused look. Why was she whistling now of all times?

“Well, I'm glad you guys cleared the air, but I do have a question. Who's that Simón? I’ve never seen him, and I’ve been dead for a long time now!”

Imelda winced and looked aside. She really didn't want to talk about him. Luckily for her, Carlos was ready to do it for her.

“Ah, he’s… muy terco. Pushy. A Revolutionary hero who died in battle.”

“He’s pretty detached too. I’ve gone to the Miracle City neighborhood to visit him on Día de Muertos, and he's rarely home.” Carmen added, frowning a little. “Wait until I see him, he’s going to get a buen chanclazo!”

“I’d love to see that.” Héctor laughed, and very soon, Imelda was laughing as well.

It seemed there were no hard feelings between them, when her aunt started joking like that. It was a relief. Imelda leaned back on her seat. “Once we manage to save Coco, I want to visit you again. The music ban was lifted, there's no reason why I should keep avoiding you. And mi familia should know the truth.”

“We'd be happy to have you here, mija.” Carmen smiled to her, joining her hands over her ribcage.

“And I do think Manolo’s mariachi band could use a second guitarrista.” Carlos got up and patted Héctor's shoulder. “Simón puede irse a chingar a otro lado. His opinion doesn't matter. When Imelda and you love each other, that's all that matters.”

“Sabias palabras, Carlos.” María nodded in agreement. “I’ll open the good stuff!”

Imelda couldn't stop smiling. Being surrounded by the love and the support of her extended family made her soul markings glow in joy. When Carlos and Carmen wrapped her in their embrace, she felt almost as if her heart would burst.

“Gracias… gracias, de verdad…”

It was then a cheerful grito came from the attic, followed by fast, loud footsteps making the wood stairs whine and crack.

“Mamá Imelda! WE FOUND IT! We found the book!!!!” Julio announced and kicked the kitchen's door open. Victoria walked in right after him.

“Gracias a Dios!” Imelda let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She got up and picked up the book Victoria was offering her.

Standing behind Julio, Joaquín rubbed the back of his skull, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry it took us so long… We had to dig out a lot of stuff.”

Imelda didn’t answer, she was way too busy flicking through the pages. There were several drawings of La Muerte and Xibalba, her husband, along with a very round deity that she hadn’t seen before. “Who’s this guy?”

“That’s the Candlemaker.” Carmen pointed out. “He’s the god of balance. He protects the candles that hold the lives of everything that exists.”

“He’s irrelevant for now.” Imelda turned the page, revealing another picture of Xibalba. “I saw Xibalba before… but Sartana doesn’t look that much like him. Except the face, maybe, and the wings. But her dress, her hat…”  She flicked a few pages back to the beginning and pointed to one of the drawings of La Muerte’s drawings. “It was more like hers.” She looked up to her aunt, frustrated. “This is a dead end. Don’t you know anything else about the gods?”

"Well... I did meet them once, but I can't… ugh..." Carmen rubbed her forehead and then reached for the book. “The book does mention two places, here.” She guided her hand toward the second half of the album.

Those pages included drawings about places that were nothing like the Land of the Dead Imelda knew. She narrowed her eyes to read the names under each picture. “Cave of Souls… and… Land of the **Forgotten**?!” she gasped at the last word and looked back to Héctor.

His eyes widened in shock. “Chicharrón…Juanita… mis tías…”

Imelda could only guess how many friends he had lost through the years. She wouldn’t ask, but what this book was implying was huge. It might mean that the ‘Final Death’ wasn’t so ‘Final’ after all. Maybe his friends weren’t gone for good - just in a different realm!

As happy as this discovery was, it also opened a whole new can of worms. If other realms existed, Imelda guessed that Sartana, as a goddess, was aware of them. Which meant that Coco might not be in this realm anymore. A feeling of dread invaded her body as reality sunk in, while the world seemed to go mute for her. This was turning out to be something bigger than she could have ever imagined.

She covered her mouth, struggling to keep it together. How would they reach Coco now? Could Pepita fly them to those lands? And where were they?

“Tía Carmen…,” her voice came out low, humble. “Where can we find these Lands? Does the book say what direction we should follow?”

Carmen leaned against her husband and shook her head. “I’m sorry, mija. We don’t know. If it wasn’t for that book, we wouldn’t even know that these places exist. According to that book, _I visited these places_! But every time I try to remember them - I can’t! It’s almost as if something was blocking those memories…”

“Blocking memories? In the Land of the Dead?” Victoria gave Carmen an skeptical look.

“It’s more likely than you think.” María crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Xibalba has something to do with it. He’s a trickster, even sent his snake to envenomate Manolo and me once to win a bet. He might know something about Sartana that we don’t.”

Imelda closed the book and handed it to Héctor. “Hold this, we’ll take this as reference. When there’s a chance that my daughter might be trapped in another realm…”

She couldn’t finish her phrase, since a loud commotion flooded the whole neighborhood. María ran to the window and opened it.

“Primo Chucho! What's going on?!”

“Es La Muerte! La Muerte herself has come to San Ángel! And there’s a living kid with her!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Who is the mysterious Simón Rivera? Why is he so detached? One thing is sure, this won't be the last we hear of him! Also, my apologies. I really wanted to write more about the Tres Leches here - but Imelda needed to sort out her issues with her extended family first. This story is pretty much writing itself up! 
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> pinche - in this context, silly (but said with affection)  
> “Vamos." - "Come on"  
> “Tienes razón…” - "You're right"  
> “Lo siento" - "I'm sorry"  
> "Está bien" - "It's OK"  
> corrida (de toros) - It's the name that receive the bullfighting events.  
> “Buenos días familia!" - "Good morning family!"  
> “Nothing like a toreo!” - Same as 'corrida de toros'.  
> "Sí, somos familia.” - "Yes, we're family"  
> tía - aunt  
> tío - uncle  
> “Mi amor…” - my love  
> “...en serio?!” - "Really?"  
> "Bueno,.." - "Well,..."  
> muy terco - very stubborn  
> buen chanclazo - A punishment with the mighty chancla (shoe), but more aggressive!  
> “Simón puede irse a chingar a otro lado." - "Simón can go pester people somewhere else."  
> mija - my daughter  
> guitarrista - guitarist, guitar player  
> “Sabias palabras, Carlos.” - "Wise words, Carlos."  
> “Gracias… gracias, de verdad…” - "Thank you... thank you, really."  
> primo - cousin


	15. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Miguel closed his eyes, opened them again and let out a deep breath, trying to take it all in. Shops, banners, sounds, people; everything in the city passed like a splash of colors before his eyes on their way to San Ángel. His Xolo alebrije crossed his vision, barking at the funiculars.

“Are you comfortable, Miguel?” La Muerte was sitting behind him, leading the horse skeleton.

Miguel leaned a little against her, enjoying the warmth of her body. In many ways, her smile, her hair, the tenderness in her eyes, a lot about her reminded him of his mamá. “Estoy bien, gracias.”

Itchpo rode her horse to their left and kept Ernesto’s chihuahuas close to her body, holding them with her marigold wings. Miguel could hear them barking and whining. How could this flowery girl ride a horse and carry such squirmy dogs at the same time? He had to to give her some credit for it; he wasn’t that good of a multitasker. And with that question on his head, he decided to voice another that roamed on his mind practically since they left the castle. “Oye, Itchpo!”, he called out. “Why did you decide to come along…?”

“I don’t go out much… So I saw a chance to do so and took it.” She said. “I still can’t use my powers, but it’s alright. That’s what horses are for, and- Oh! H-HEY!!”

One of the dogs jumped out of her reach. Itchpo grasped for it, but the chihuahua landed on the ground with a low **_‘Thud!’_ ** noise; sprouted wings and flew away. “How ungrateful! I won’t go back for you!”, she grumbled, anger puffing her cheeks.

“Ah, let it be.” Miguel shrugged. “That dog is one of Ernesto’s alebrijes, so… estará bien.” It would be rude to say he didn’t care about them, but, truth be told… he didn’t.

“Si tú lo dices…” Itchpo let out a sigh, her shoulders slumped. Miguel chewed on his bottom lip. It seemed she cared about them, even if those chihuahuas weren’t her property.

“Oye… When everything is over, we can look for it.” He looked down, avoiding her gaze.

“That… that would be sweet…” He could practically hear the smile on her voice. “Oh! Mira, mira Miguel! This is San Ángel!!”

Miguel could see the differences between this place and the one they had left behind: smaller buildings, wider streets, fewer lights… A neighborhood with an old Western flavour.

A crowd of skeletons cheered for La Muerte and welcomed her with open arms. Some brought her flowers as offerings, a few seemed to be whispering about him. Miguel feared their progress would come to a halt but, luckily for them, the crowds allowed them to keep moving. He noticed Xochi blew kisses to the audience. What a show-off!

“That's the Mondragón plaza! And that's a flower shop! And that's the bullring!! We’ll see your family very soon!” Itchpo chortled, looking around.

“I hope so! Can’t wait to see my Papá Héctor, and my Mamá Imelda, and… uh?”

Xochi urged his own horse to run between them, effectively blocking any possibility to hold a conversation. Miguel heard Itchpo complain and cursing at his back. Her twin stayed. Miguel could see all too well why Xochi decided to tag along in the last minute.

“Hey _Miguelito_ , you should take a look at these old skeletons!” Xochi smirked, arching one of his eyebrow-shaped soul markings. “Bet you can’t sleep once you see their eyes!”

“As if they were so scary…!” Miguel retorted, before glancing to the people approaching them. They weren’t that different from other skeletons he saw before… except for their eyes. Or the lack thereof. Pale yellow lights acted as their irises. He laughed, giving an unimpressed look to the white-haired god. “Haha! Sí, definitely not scary at all!”

Miguel’s mouth drew a cheeky grin the moment he saw Xochi scowl and urge his horse to walk past them. Itchpo laughed at her brother, and a soft sigh left Miguel’s lips. All this banter was in no way different from a regular day hanging out with his cousins Rosa and Abel. He missed his living family already… almost as much as his deceased relatives.

The chance of a upcoming reunion with his dead family brought a small smile to his face. “Are we there yet-?”

“We’re here!” La Muerte interrupted, jumping from her saddle.

Miguel lost his balance the moment she jumped off from it, but Dante caught him in time. His eyes went wide when he read the words on the wall of the hacienda.

SÁNCHEZ MONDRAGÓN.

FAMILIA DE TOREROS,

Two worn out pieces of wood showed an addendum to the previous statement underneath.

_SOLDADOS Y MÚSICOS DESDE 1920._

A middle-aged skeleton in a black matador suit came out, followed by others. He got on one knee, welcoming La Muerte. “Mi señora…! To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

La Muerte chuckled and patted his cheek. “Drop the formalities, Manolo, I’m always glad to visit one of my dearest campeones!” She beckoned him to stand up and her smile faded. “Sadly for us, an old threat has returned to the Lands of the Dead. I’ll need your help, María’s, Joaquin's, and…”

The rest of the conversation fell silent on Miguel’s ears, as he noticed that some of those  skeletons were familiar, like a certain old man with a big moustache.

“Papá Julio!” Miguel ran and hugged him without hesitation. “I missed you!”

“Miguel!” That surprise hug knocked off his hat, but his great-grandpa paid no mind to it. He simply returned his embrace. “You’re here! But how?!”

A bespectacled lady stood behind him, an inquisitive look framing her face. “I hope you didn’t get cursed again! The first time had a pass, the second, not so much, BUT A THIRD?! Seriously, Miguel, one would think you want to be a thief, not a musician...”

“Tía Victoria!” Miguel went to hug her and her stern expression dissolved into a soft smile. It was then that Rosita practically ripped him from that short-lived embrace.

“Our Miguelitito~!” She exclaimed joyously, trapping Miguel in a bear hug.

“Tía Rosita… I can’t breathe!” Miguel choked out those words before she released him.

“I missed you, mijo!” Rosita smiled from one soul marking to the other. “How did you get here?”

“Actually, I would like to know that too.” An earnest voice silenced them all, and Miguel felt happy tears come to his eyes. Wearing that purple skirt, the same grey hairs on her head and a tired look on her face, there she stood.

“Mamá Imelda!”  The emotions flooding his heart made him stumble, but his great-great-grandmother caught him with ease in her arms. The same warmth, the same scent of lavender and leather. Miguel hugged her tightly. “I-it wasn’t a curse this time, I promise. L-la Muerte brought me here with her blessing…”

“Shhh, it’s alright. I believe you.” Imelda smiled and held him close for a moment. He’d love to stay in her arms, but there was a person missing. One he wanted to see more than anything else.

“MIJO!!!!”

What happened next felt like a movie in slow motion. It was him, still remembered and standing, and not glowing like the last time they saw each other. He was running toward him.

“PAPÁ HÉCTOR!!!!”

Miguel ran to his great-great-grandfather and tackle-hugged him. Warm tears pricked his eyes, as his cheeks stretched in the biggest smile he could offer. At the same time, Héctor’s withered bones found their place around his back, hugging him tightly. Very soon, the child felt something wet on his cheek. Maybe Héctor had tears to shed as well... 

“I’m… I’m so h-happy y-you are still here, p-papá Héctor…” Miguel stammered, his body shaking in delight. “I-I was so scared… I feared I didn’t make it in time…”

“Shhh, shhh…” Héctor kissed the top of his head. “You saved me, mijo… You made it possible. Gracias, de verdad... Well done.”

Miguel felt his breathing finally coming at ease. He stayed in his arms a little longer, silently thanking the Virgin of Guadalupe for listening to his prayers. Even though La Muerte had given him clues about Héctor’s status before, only now that he saw him up and well, the fear about him was put to rest.. Well… most of it.

Héctor pulled back and touched his cheek. “How did you get here, mijo? Do you need another blessing to go home?”

Miguel pointed to La Muerte. “Actually… she brought me here. She told me what happened to Mamá Coco.”

“So you know... “ Héctor’s smile was replaced by a frown. “We’ve been doing our best to find her. All we know is that the lady kidnapping her was… oddly similar to the gods ruling these lands.” He gave the goddess a wary gaze.

“She is innocent! She is a friend, look…” Miguel took his hand and practically dragged him to the spot where La Muerte talked to Manolo. “Señora Muerte…? This is my Papá Héctor.”

Héctor took his hat off and held it before his chest. Miguel could see his grip on the hat became tighter the moment La Muerte laid her eyes on him. The goddess gave him a soft smile. “Héctor Rivera… I’ve heard a lot about you. You’ve become famous in the Department of Family Reunions. You--”

Suddenly, Miguel saw his great-great-grandma’s eyes darkening. “YOU! You owe us some explanations, La Muerte!” Imelda walked toward them, boot in her hand ready to slap if necessary. The child gasped in shock. What had gotten into her? Behind her, a second bullfighter dressed in green, a soldier and two women, one with very long brown hair, another with streaks white as snow, showed up with their arms crossed. Miguel wondered if those three had something to do with Mamá Imelda’s outburst.

Miguel clenched his fists. He couldn’t stand there and do nothing! When he tried to step between his great-great-grandma and the gods, Itchpo held her hand up, stopping him. Meanwhile, Héctor stepped back, letting his wife handle the situation.

“Imelda, calm down…” La Muerte chastised her. “It’s not nice to yell. Much less at someone like me. Though I understand, I know where that pain comes from---”

“What do you KNOW?!” Imelda didn’t lower her voice. “You’re hiding secrets from your own people! Héctor, the book!”

“What book?” Miguel was confused. He hadn’t noticed at first, but it was there. Héctor separated his spine and pulled a dusty book from his rib cage, before handing it to Imelda. There was something written on the cover, but Miguel couldn’t read it.

Imelda flipped through the pages, stopped on one, then held the book for everyone to see. “What is this?!” she demanded. “This book says mi tía Carmen _visited_ these places in 1920 - why can’t she remember?!”

One of the pictures Imelda was pointing to showed the Land of the Forgotten, exactly like it looked on the map in La Muerte’s castle. Another showed a strange cave full of candles.

La Muerte’s eyes went wide. She picked up the book with care. If it wasn’t impossible Miguel would think she was… _afraid_. “Where… where did you get this…?”

Imelda raised her boot. “I’m the one asking questions here! Answer me!”

Xochi stepped in, scowling at Imelda. “Serás pendeja! You’ve got some nerve talking to my mamá like that! Cállate or I’ll send your sorry ass to the Land of the Cursed!”

“Imelda, wait...” Héctor touched her wrist right away, mainly because she had that fire in her eyes - the one that showed Imelda wouldn’t hesitate. She’d give him the chancla treatment even if he was a god. He jumped forward, glaring at the red-eyed deity. “Oye, chamaco, I don’t know who you are, but you’re talking to the love of my life! Have some respect!”

“Why should I? She’s inferior to me. ” Xochi crossed his arms, keeping his chin up.

“Xochi!” La Muerte scolded her son, and Miguel covered his mouth, stifling a laugh as he saw the cheeky twin scoot behind his mother right away. La Muerte sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry about that. Who wrote this book?”

The woman with long brown hair stepped forward, frowning a little. “I wrote it. Apparently I played an important role in the stories told in this book, but I can’t remember many details either.”

“María…” La Muerte watched her in silence, then stared at the drawings. “And the pictures?”

The black-suited matador took María’s left hand, while the soldier took the other one. By the way the three gazed at each other Miguel could tell they weren’t only friends.

“We drew those. We know because we added our signatures at the end of the book… otherwise, we wouldn’t even know we were there.” The soldier stated, frowning.

“Manolo… Joaquín… I…” La Muerte stepped back and looked away. She gripped the book tightly. Why wasn’t she talking? Miguel didn’t know her for that long, but seeing her go silent sent a chill down his spine.

Manolo stepped forward, seeking a calmer approach. “I don’t think you would do anything to erase our memories, mi señora, but… someone had to. And we are starting to believe you know who did it.”

The woman with the white streaks put a hand on Manolo’s shoulder. “All of us need answers, especially after the things…” She turned to look at Imelda and Héctor. “... mi sobrina Imelda and her husband told us. About that… Sartana, being a goddess. When she’s got the same powers you do, she could hide en cualquier parte… and take Coco with her.”

The green-suited bullfighter stood by Héctor’s side. “Whatever you’re hiding, we won’t hold it against you. We only want to help Héctor and Imelda to save their daughter.”

“Carmen… Carlos…” La Muerte covered her mouth, muffling words that sounded to Miguel like incoherent mumbling. She cast down her eyes, her voice breaking. “I’m just...”

The candles on her hat flickered. La Muerte paused and turned her head in the direction of the wind as it stirred her hair. Miguel got nervous. It was unnaturally quiet. He turned to see what she stared at; his eyes widening as he did.

A wall of debris was sweeping towards them. He barely took two steps back as the gale struck them hard. La Muerte’s charro hat flew off her head. The goddess gasped and turned around, her hat, now forgotten, landed in a marigold bush. He could see La Muerte gathering Itchpo and Xochi into her arms. Miguel was pulled into an embrace between his great-great-grandparents; seeing the young gods cling to their mother as he struggled to see what was going on. He shuddered when he heard Itchpo scream.

_Gods shouldn’t be scared._

And yet…

Piercing cries filled the street. Pieces of debris and dust hit them. The earth trembled beneath his feet. Miguel saw the skeletons on the streets holding onto lamp posts, signs; whatever they could latch on to not to be swept in the air. Looking up, he saw a massive spiral of dark clouds appear in the sky from somewhere beyond the sea, it seemed. Its tendrils loomed over the Land of the Remembered like a monster about to devour its prey.

The wind stopped after a while, but the sky kept growing darker. Even when Miguel was freed from their protective embrace, eventually, Imelda’s hands remained on his shoulders. Héctor cupped his cheek and examined him. “Miguel! Miguel, look at me, are you hurt?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Miguel shuddered, though not out of fear. “ What was that?” The hairs on his arms raised like on a cold day. He'd never seen the weather change in the Land of the Dead. There was no wind, no clouds... just the sun and the moon.

“Híjole… what’s happening?!” Manolo walked up with La Muerte’s hat and handed it to her. But she didn’t take it. “¿Mi Señora?”

La Muerte still looked up to the sky and held on to her children. Miguel could see both Xochi and Itchpo huddled against her, the latter whimpering. The moon had turned red… like blood.

“My _sister_ …” she whispered, her eyes wild, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Something happened to my sister! I need to see her!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update! Both my beta readers and myself were very busy! But there's some good news too: I've written chapter 16 already, so I'll upload it soonish, hopefully :)  
> Also, some cultural notes: before this story, Miguel knew nothing about the TBOL gods, so he prayed to the virgin of Guadalupe, who is one of the most important religious figures in México.
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> “Estoy bien, gracias.” - "I'm good, thank you"  
> "Oye..." - Literally "Hear!". It means "Here!" or "Look here". Basically an interjection to draw someone else's attention.  
> "...estará bien.” - "It will be fine"  
> “Si tú lo dices…” - "If you say so"  
> "Mira!" - "Look!"  
> Sí - Yes  
> Familia de toreros, soldados y músicos desde 1920 - Family of bullfighters, soldiers and musicians since 1920  
> “Mi señora…!" - My lady!  
> Mijo - My son  
> Gracias, de verdad - Thank you, really  
> mi tía - my aunt  
> "Serás pendeja!" - In this context, " You're an asshole". But it can be also a variant of "dumb", just a worse one.  
> "Cállate!" - "Shut up!"  
> chancla - slipper  
> chamaco - boy, kid  
> mi sobrina - my niece  
> en cualquier parte - anywhere  
> Híjole - In this context, "Oh my God!"


	16. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Even though he died almost a century ago, this was the first time Héctor witnessed a gale in the Land of the Dead. And the first time he actually felt cold creep up on his bones.  Not even the temperature shift though could cool down his wife’s temper. 

“Your sister can wait! I’m not done with you yet!” Imelda slipped into her boot and stormed up to La Muerte, frowning. “You know more about that Sarana than you’re letting on.” 

“It’s Sartana.” Héctor whispered to her.

“¡Y qué más da!” She groaned and placed her hands on her hips. “If that goddess knows of these other realms...! Just imagine, our poor Coco, all alone… Our little girl doesn’t even know how to move around, she just arrived some weeks ago!” Tears pricked at her eyes. “She’ll be so scared...” 

Héctor knew that feeling too well, the fear of losing the chance to see someone you love. He wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder and felt her weight pressing against him. His free hand found Imelda’s and her fingers curled naturally around his. He’d love to take away all of her pain, but he couldn’t do much - except support her, and… probably make the craziest suggestions ever.  Anything, really.  He had to take action. 

_ Coco needs us.  _

Héctor untangled his limbs from his wife’s hold and walked up to the deities, resolution etched on his face. “How do we get to the other lands?” 

The divine kids left La Muerte’s hold. “Ya, as if we were going to tell you!” Xochi, the red-suited deity, crossed his arms. He didn’t look older than Miguel, but he sure was a pain. “Borders exist for a reason.”

“Xochi, cállate!” La Muerte finally gathered the courage to speak, even if a shade of sorrow still darkened her eyes. She picked up her charro hat from Manolo’s hands and put it on, covering her face with it. 

Héctor couldn’t tell exactly what it was yet, but something about the way she held onto her hat, squeezing the edges, let him know something was amiss. Her distressed voice confirmed it. “It won't be easy to reach the other kingdoms, but there’s a way. Escúchenme--” 

Certain familiar laughter interrupted her speech. Héctor turned around, and his eyes met a strange vision: Oscar and Felipe, soaked from head to toe, came out of the hacienda’s basement. Two lovely twin girls dressed in red and white kept them company, walking arm in arm. They were just as sloppy. The men’s skulls were covered in lipstick marks. 

“Ahahahaha! Hola, familia…” Oscar greeted them, drunk in joy. 

“We were busy, running some errands, doing some stuff…” Felipe continued. He laughed when the girl latching onto his arm kissed his cheek. 

“We are  _ stuff  _ ~ “ The other girl said, leaning against Óscar. This one had an eyepatch.

Héctor would recognize those expressions anywhere. Heck, he was guilty of wearing faces like that often when he was alive, but this was not the time.  Seeing that Imelda was too embarrassed to scold her brothers, Héctor decided to handle the problem himself. He walked to the two couples. “Look guys, I don’t care what you do on your time off, but… There are children present!”

“Children?” Óscar looked past Héctor. “Ah, it’s just Miguel… Wait. MIGUEL?!!”

“Ay, Dios...” Héctor ran his hands over his face, trying to push the frustration away. He’d have to explain everything to the twins later. 

The shorter goddess leaned close to Miguel. With her green dress, her wavy hair and her flowery wings, she seemed to be close to his age as well, though, of course, that couldn't be the case. “I think I’m missing something…”

“Adults are gross, that’s all.” Miguel whispered back to her. 

Such words made la niña show her tooth gap in a crooked grin. She peeked to La Muerte, and Héctor noticed that the sugar-skinned goddess’s shoulders sagged under an unseen weight. The quick gazes that her verdant eyes kept giving to La Muerte let him know that she noticed her exhaustion as well. With a clap of her chestnut hands, he could tell she decided to speak on La Muerte’s behalf to Imelda, a humble expression on her face.

“Doña, we never meant to hide things, I promise. It’s just, uh… I don’t know if my Mamá would be OK with me telling you the truth.” she mumbled, as she glanced to La Muerte. The red-suited goddess frowned and shook her head, mouthing a quiet 'No’. 

Héctor’s brow raised. So La Muerte was her mother? It seemed so, given the way the green-and-black suited girl smirked to her. As if they reached some kind of understanding that didn't need to be voiced out loud.  That didn't stop the Señorita de Verde from speaking her mind, though. “Mi Mamá didn’t come here just to bring Miguel. We came because we know the place where Sartana took your daughter and Ernesto de la Cruz.” 

“W-WHAT?!” Héctor’s eyeballs nearly fell out of their sockets; he had to hit his cheekbones to ensure they wouldn’t. “What does Ernesto have to do with all of this?! Did she kidnap him too?”

“And how did you find out?” Imelda inquired, her voice stern. She crossed her arms.

“Mamá Imelda, please!” Miguel backed up his godly friend, which surprised Héctor. “Itchpo doesn’t have all the answers, but… La Muerte has this magic map in her castle...”  

Was he actually… protecting her? Or just being overall supportive? Héctor never had a chance to see Miguel interacting with other kids before, so he couldn’t tell. 

“People appear on it like wooden figurines, they’re this big.” Miguel explained, showing the size with his hands. “That’s how we found Mamá Coco. She’s in the Land of the Unknown, a place beyond the sea.”

Héctor’s shoulders dropped in relief. Finally, a location! “Then we can’t waste more time. How do we get there?”, he asked, determination filling his face. 

“We could use Pepita.” Imelda suggested, bringing her knuckles to her lips. “But she can’t carry all the family, especially if it is a long flight. With her size she’d get tired too soon.” 

“No matter how big or powerful your alebrije is in this realm, your ‘Pepita’ is no match for the alebrijes of the land of the Unknown.” Xochi chimed in, a cheeky grin on his face. “Whatever Sartana is planning, she got everything covered. We’re all like marionetas in her hands. I wouldn't be surprised if she's using Ernesto for her own benefit. Knowing her, bet she’s about to jump to another realm already.” 

Héctor sighed and rubbed his temple. Xochi got on his nerves, but he had a point. If Sartana was toying with them, they needed to face the issue from another angle.

Miguel frowned and clenched his fists. “Then we need to find Mamá Coco, pronto! There must some way to get to that place when Pepita can’t fly us there, right?”

“You can either cross the sea or jump through the magic waterfalls of the Cave of Souls.” Itchpo suggested with a smirk. “The Cave is the place that connects all of us. Plus you’d get to meet my uncle, the Candle Maker!”

“Sounds fun!” Miguel grinned from ear to ear. “Maybe he can help us, too!”

_ The place that connects all of us _ … Those words resonated deeply in Héctor’s mind. For some reason, they were familiar, as if he had heard them before. He had a gut feeling about it. Connections. Places. Gods able to jump from one realm to the next.  

“Okay, okay, okay.” Héctor looked up and opened his arms, making sure everyone paid attention to everything he needed to say. “Xochi is right. We can’t waste more time here.”

“I am?” The witty god sounded genuinely surprised at his affirmation. 

“Yes, you are.” Héctor nodded. He began to walk in circles, contemplating the facts they gathered so far. “Sartana is very clever. Chances are she chose Ernesto to join her schemes because he’s that good at running away and covering his own tracks. Following them to the Land of the Unknown might be a waste of time if they can jump easily to other realms, just like you said. So we need to cover all the realms.”

Miguel’s eyes lit up. “That’s it!” The child ran up to him and grabbed his wrist. “Papá Héctor! The Cave of Souls! Itchpo just told us - we could go to all the lands, at the same time!” 

Héctor’s gold tooth sparkled as his mouth stretched into the widest grin. He raised Miguel into his arms, laughing. “Ahaha!! Eso es, mijo! We can ambush them!” 

“I want to go. Maybe I can help.” Manolo put a hand on Imelda’s shoulder. “Family is very important. We cousins gotta help each other, right?”

“If Manolo goes, I think I should go, too. I have to take care of him, you see.” Joaquín added, smiling to Héctor.

María chuckled and pulled both of her men for a quick kiss. “And I can’t let the guys have all the fun. I’m coming as well, no buts or ifs!” 

“In that case, we’re in. Adelita...” One of the twin girls started, raising her pistol. 

“...y Scardelita Sánchez, juntas hasta el fin!” The other finished, lifting her gun as well. 

La Muerte clapped her hands once to create a set of straws and handed it to Imelda. 

“Then, you only need to decide who goes where. I’ll guide all of you to the Cave of Souls.”

 

* * *

 

“Chel! Miguel! Where are you?!” 

Tulio called out for his family, but he couldn’t hear a word. His wife, his husband… sure, they were already dead, but that didn’t make him worry any less.

The Land of the Unknown had fallen into an eerie silence after the brief battle over the Moon Staff. Many of the possessed soldiers fell unconscious on the ground the moment that goddess, the mysterious ‘Sartana’, escaped from the city. And if that wasn’t enough, a hurricane crashed all over the place, knocking over most stalls, shops and practically everything that wasn’t made of stone.

The weather had shifted, growing colder. And in a world where weather never changed, feeling the chilly wind on his hair was something creepy. He suspected it had something to do with that vortex of clouds that appeared over La Pirámide Nocturna, but he couldn’t just go in to investigate. Regular skeletons like him weren’t allowed in La Noche’s home.

“Tulio! Over here!” 

He turned around, noticing two familiar skeletons crawling out of a mess of fabrics and sticks. A warm sensation ran over his body. “Miguel! Oh, Chel! Finally!!” Tulio exclaimed, running to help them to stand up. “Are you alright?” 

“No broken bones, but... that gale obliterated my stall! Look all the tunics, torn to shreds! And the skirts too, and the accessories, all gone!!” Chel mourned her loss. “And Miguel’s lute is broken.”

“I guess it could have been worse, all things considered, right Miguel?” Tulio asked, turning to him. When he didn’t answer, Tulio touched his clavicle. “Miguel?”

Miguel was looking up to the sky. He held one hand up, as a small white thing fell into it. Followed by many, many more. 

Chel’s eyes went wide. “What… what is this?” she asked.

Tulio knew the answer. He never thought he’d get to see something like that ever again. Last time was in Spain, more than four hundred years ago.

“ _Nieve_ …”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I took so long to update! I had to finish several papers for the academy! Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Things are changing in the Lands of the Dead. With La Noche severely injured, weather is going crazy. One thing is sure: Riveras and Sánchezs are going off together in this adventure! :D What mysteries will they discover in the other lands? Stay tuned!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:   
> “¡Y qué más da!” - In this context, "Who cares?!"  
> "cállate!” - "Shut up!"  
> Escúchenme - Listen to me  
> Hola, familia - Hello, my family!  
> Dios - God  
> la niña - the child/little girl  
> Doña - Common courtesy expression, it means Mrs. usually.  
> Señorita de Verde - Miss in Green  
> marionetas - puppets  
> pronto - soon  
> "Eso es, mijo!" - "That's it, my son!"  
> juntas hasta el fin - together until the end  
> La Pirámide Nocturna - The Nightly Pyramid  
> Nieve - snow


	17. Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Clocks started to tick in Miracle City, a spicy cesspool of crime and villainy. Though not really for 24-year-old Manny Rivera. During the summer, he’d say his hometown was dry, dusty, and cold at night. Which made tonight the exception to the rule.

Frida closed the door of their apartment after him and doffed her Plata Peligrosa glove. Her silvery supersuit vanished and her clothes returned to normal: a colourful T-shirt and a short red skirt, still soaked. “Dude! What was THAT? That storm came out of nowhere!” she complained, squeezing her blue hair. She kicked her shoes off, still pouting.

“I don’t know. Last thing I remember is that it was still daytime and we were about to defeat Señor Siniestro. And now it's nighttime.”  Manny squeezed the excess water from his mask whiskers. “But you know what my father says: when in doubt, sure it’s a villain’s doing.” He flicked his belt buckle, and his Tigre supersuit dissolved in magic, revealing his jeans and a worn-out jacket just as wet as his curly dark hair. Nothing that a towel couldn’t fix. He picked one from the bathroom and handed it to his girlfriend, then grabbed another for himself.

Frida started to dry her hair. “But which one? Dr. Chipotle Jr.? The Golden Eagle Twins?”, she narrowed her eyes. “The Flock of Fury?”

Manny laughed and shook his head. He knew all too well that his blue-haired lover couldn’t stand her old rival. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Zoe Aves. No one in that family is that powerful.”

“But she’s evil, evil to the bone. And when you look inside, her heart is evilier!” Frida insisted.

“I don’t know, Frida… I have the feeling the rain doesn’t have anything to do with her.  Mira!” he pointed to the window. The rain had stopped, revealing an ominous view. The same moon where Sartana had sculpted her face years ago emitted an eerie red glow. Around it, the stars in the sky began to flicker and vanish into the dark.

Manny knew it was difficult to scare Frida. She always had this happy-go-lucky attitude. She'd only frown when things got real bad... And this was one of those times.

“OK, on the scale from one to ten for creepiness, I’d say this breaks the charts.” She muttered, then stared at him. “Manny, there’s only one person with this much power in the city…”

“I think I know what you’re going to suggest…” It was then when the sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted their conversation. Manny let out a sigh and went to open the door, all too aware they’d have to continue their talk later… or maybe not.

“Speak of the devil. Frida, it’s your ex-boyfriend!”

Django of the Dead stood in front of him. His cheeky arch nemesis, who caused him so much trouble in the last years, yet… Tonight he looked everything but threatening. There was an unmistakable horror written in his eyes. The young skeleton man reached for him and touched his shoulder with his claws off. It was then when Manny knew Django didn’t come to fight.

“Hey dude, I know this is really sudden, but I need your help.”

Manny pushed his hand away. Being touched by a skeleton never failed to creep him out. “Why should I? You and your family caused trouble for mine - for years!”

Django grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it hurriedly. “You don’t have to trust me… especially when I left the city for so long, but... this is a family matter.” He explained, showing it to the hero. Manny’s eyes went wide.

“A letter from Sartana…”

“My father and me came back to the city as soon as we saw the red moon. She wasn’t home, but she left this letter. Manny… I think my nana is in danger.”

* * *

 

The shadows of the night clouded his vision. Heavy footprints left a trace past him on the white carpet beneath his shoes. Ernesto had never seen anything like this, not in life, nor in death - but he’d heard about snow, and he'd recognize it when he saw it. He picked several branches and twigs off the ground, in hopes to light up a fire later. Fortunately, the Forest of the Lost had plenty to offer, with its high trees and thick bushes. Just because they were on the run, didn’t mean they should allow themselves to freeze.

“We should hurry and find a place to spend the night. I wouldn’t want us to get caught in a storm.” he murmured to Sartana, pushing some leaves out of her way.

The skeletal goddess walked by his side, clutching both her guitar and the moon staff to her chest as if her very life depended on it. Her instrument released a golden light, acting as a torch. “There won’t be another storm.” she declared, gripping her guitar even tighter.

The showman arched one of his soul marking eyebrows. _Classic secretive Sartana_. If only she shared her thoughts, he felt things would be easier for everyone. Or maybe just for him really. Not that he needed that, of course. “How do you know…?”

“Please don’t ask how.” Her voice was drenched in guilt impossible to ignore. Why did she keep doing this? Why all this secrecy?

Ernesto frowned, breaking some of the twigs in his hands. Annoyance and anger poofed his cheekbones. “You know, Sartana, I am…”

“Actually shorter than her!” Coco pointed out right then. She was walking behind them, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Ernesto, do you know if there's someone in the Land of the Remembered that does bone extensions? I feel you'd probably like a few inches more in the legs..."

By now, Ernesto was used to her snark. He had a response ready, but any possibility of using it was wiped the moment his nonexistent ears were blessed by the purest of sounds.

Sartana’s snort, followed by the sweetest piggy laugh he’d ever heard in his afterlife.

So she actually could laugh! Who could tell? Even if she tried to hide it behind her knuckles, it was too late: Ernesto was pretty sure he saw it, and he just knew Coco must have witnessed it too.

However, what she did next surprised him. The goddess took off her hat, revealing a playful smirk. Her red eyes bounced from him to their prisoner. “Sabes, Coco, I don't think he needs extensions. After all, it didn't take him long to reach the _height_ of his career.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d dare to think Sartana was… actually poking fun at him??

“Aw, yeah, our _bell-loved_ ‘Nesto was so famous… Too bad he's a little _short_ on money these days.” Coco retorted, her face echoing Héctor’s mischief.

“Oye, Coco…” Ernesto tried to protest. He could endure Sartana teasing him, but two against one wasn’t fair!

“At least he went out on a _high_ note!~” Sartana chuckled and hung her guitar over her shoulder. Then she put on her hat, so her hands only had to carry the moon staff.

“Oh yes, but he’s more _down-to-earth_ now.” Coco followed, clapping her hands.

“Ahhhh, come on!” Ernesto groaned. “This is not funny, girls!” he spoke louder, as if this would make them believe he was right.

Coco patted his arm, still snickering. “Be the _bigger_ person, ‘Nesto. We gotta make these _little_ moments count.”

Ernesto stood up straighter and raised his index phalange. “For your information, I’m taller than yo--…!”

His breath was cut short when he felt a familiar hand lifting his chin. When he looked up, Sartana’s crimson eyes were gazing into his, just a few inches separating them.

“You know, _De La Cruz..._ ” Her breath caressed his face when she talked. The way she said his last name was almost sultry. How could she do that with her voice alone?! The artist felt his soul markings flaring up in embarrassment. “...some people says good things come in _small_ packages. Maybe you could be one of those.”

She let him go and Ernesto remained still, watching her walk away as if such intimate gesture meant nothing. He let out a breath didn't realise that he was holding. His smile grew into a smirk the moment he noticed the ends of her lips going up. When their eyes met, she looked away. By everything sacred in this world and every other, she was _beautiful_.  

“M-maybe I am, sí…” He rubbed the back of his skull, embarrassed. For the first time in his afterlife, he felt actually bashful. He hadn't felt this way since his youth, when he chased after girls and secretly pined after some boys as well.

"Oh, now you go and agree with her?” Coco stopped with the jokes to nudge him. “If she's allowed to mess with you like that, you must really like her..."

“No I don’t!” Ernesto protested, feeling heat invade his whole body. He wondered if his markings were glowing again - he did see a faint light beneath his eyes… and Sartana shaking her head. Did she hear what Coco said…?!

“I think we’ve walked enough. Time to call it a day.” The goddess declared, using her claws to draw a path to a clearing ahead. She walked into it, cleared the snow out of the trunk of a fallen tree and sat on it. “Ernesto, you better put those twigs to use.”

“Sure, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to start a fire with sodden soil…” he answered, as he dropped on the wood on the ground. He started to dig a hole in the snow.

“Mandilón…” Coco joked, sitting under a tree. Its branches were thick enough, so part of the ground remained dry around it.

“Shut up, Coco.” He could forgive her for joking at his expense when she found something useful for once. “Sartana, we should take shelter under that tree. The ground looks dry underneath. It should be easier to start a fire there”, he suggested, picking up the twigs again.

“Sounds fair.” She lifted a rotten trunk as if it weighed nothing, then placed it in front of the tree. “You, old lady. Sit here”, she beckoned Coco to sit on it.

“This… this is kind of you, Sartana.” A surprised smile showed on her face. “Gracias.”

“I’m not as bad as people make me out to be.” the goddess said, sitting by her side. She retracted her claws and put down the moon staff at her feet. “I’ve done some nasty things in the past, but I’m not heartless.”

Ernesto smirked and rubbed the twigs together. “Sí, I’ve done things I’m not proud of either.” First attempt, the twigs cracked like chopsticks. Second attempt, the wind blew off the first spark he got out of the wood. It wasn’t until the third try that he managed to set up the bonfire. He blew gently over the embers and placed more thinner branches over them. It was oddly satisfying, to get some job done by himself. “But those things needed to be done.”  He retreated and sat on a rock next to the trunk where his companions rested.

“Like killing your best friend and stealing his songs.” Coco gave him a sidelong glance and interlaced her fingers. Ernesto noticed her chains were coming loose. Maybe he should warn Sartana about it… But that could wait.

Those cherry eyes of hers were gazing into his. “I’ve heard you tried to kill a living child as well.” the goddess chuckled. “When I think of it, it’s funny we attempted to commit the same crime.”

“Wait, what?! So you tried to kill Miguel as well?!” Coco’s jaw nearly dropped in shock.

“Me? Oh no, no. No. Not him. A different kid.” Sartana shook her head. She raised her guitar and plucked a few strings, creating a sad tune. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s an old story. Who would want to listen the story of an old bag of bones anyway?”

Ernesto felt his breath hitch in his cervical spine. Did she overhear him when he called her _that_ \- or did she see herself as such? Either way, he felt the need to reach out. He placed a hand on her clavicle and smiled. “You know… you’re much more than that.”

Sartana flinched and pulled away. “It’s… it’s not just the crimes I’ve committed.” She looked down and plucked at the strings again, until one of them snapped and broke. She quivered. “Ugh, great…”

Guitar strings were not something most people would carry around, but Ernesto checked his pockets anyway. He remembered he had found some in the remains of Shantytown some months ago. Maybe…

“Aha! Sartana, look!” He pulled them out of his breast pocket and showed them to her. “These are guitar strings that someone dumped on the trash! They might not be the best but… it’s better than playing with one string less.” His eyes landed on her guitar. “¿Puedo?”

* * *

 

Sartana pulled her guitar instinctively closer to herself. The way he was asking for it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. How could she say no to such tender eyes?

“I’ll take care of it, promise. I can treat it well. Better than I’ve treated most people in my life and afterlife.” he whispered, raising his hands to reach for the instrument.

Such words coming from him rang true to the lady in black and red. Plus he was oblivious to the true power of her guitar. It should be safe when he only wanted to add a replacement string...

“Alright. Be gentle with it.” She handed him the instrument. “I know you’re telling the truth,” she whispered and folded her hands on her lap.

“How do you know that?” Coco shot an irked look to Ernesto. “He’s a pendejo mentiroso. A bad guy. He murdered my papá and almost got away with it. I had to grow up and walk down the aisle without a father - because of him,” she lamented afterwards.

Sartana could sense mixed feelings in Coco’s heart. The elder Rivera could bear Ernesto’s existence as long as he was in pain - but the moment anyone showed him kindness, she got defensive. Protective, even. But Sartana didn’t need her protection.

If anything… she needed to get a hold of herself, because the moment Ernesto touched her guitar, she could feel the smooth surface of his bones on her body.

“Mmh.” The goddess hugged herself, trying to ignore the thrill running over her ribcage. This was such an intimate moment and he wasn't even aware of it! “I just… know him very well”, she finally answered.

Ernesto tuned up the guitar, firmly tying the new string so it wouldn’t snap like the previous one. “What do you mean?”

Sartana’s gaze returned to the musician. He had her guitar resting on his lap, pressed against his chest. She could feel how soft the fabric of his torn mariachi suit was against her back. Her soul markings began to glow. “Let’s say that I’ve been watching over you... for a long time.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this.” Coco pouted and got up. “Too much silence, too many things unsaid! I can’t deal with you two. I’m going to sleep”, she groused, kicking a stone. The old woman curled next to the fire, giving them her back.

It seemed their prisoner was resolved to ignore them… which meant that Sartana was the only person Ernesto could talk to now.

Heat rolled within the spiral markings of the deity’s cheekbones. She was alone with him, which meant they’d have to talk at some point. What if he recognized her voice? There was so much she didn’t tell him, so much she wanted to keep secret... Opening her heart to humans was a mistake she wasn’t going to repeat. Her fingers trembled and interlaced nervously a couple times before they settled on her dress, grabbing handfuls of fabric.

“Alright, your guitar is ready.” Ernesto held it away from his body. Sartana let out a sigh. _Finally!_ Feeling him so close was certainly giving her sensations she’d rather forget. But her relief didn’t last.

His warmth returned, as Ernesto pulled the guitar close to himself again. “Do you mind if I play it? I’m not going to try anything, I’ll leave the weird magic stuff to you. I just… missed music.” He played a few notes, ghost touches over her spine.

 _Damn, that feels_ **_good_ **.

“Alright… As long as you give it back once you’re done. You’ve got a bad reputation around the Land of the Remembered for not sharing your toys.” She smirked, scooting closer to him. Teasing him gave her something to focus on that wasn’t his fingertips sliding over the strings.  

“Can’t be mad about it when it’s true.” Surprisingly, he didn’t fight back. “However… I’m not the only one who’s got a bad name. I’ve seen mothers using yours to scare children into behaving.” Nevermind, he still had that naughty streak in him. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but her smile showed such a reply pleased her.

Sartana laid back and hugged one of her legs. “There is a black sheep in every family. I was the black sheep among the gods.” she whispered, looking to the sky.

“Oh, really?” Ernesto turned to face her, still plucking a few notes. _What a smile._ He hadn’t changed that much since he was alive… which was great. Memories ran through her mind.

“La pura neta.” She nodded. Then she clicked her fingers, summoning a cigarette that she guided to her lips. She inhaled the smoke, then released it. “I’m the oldest sister of a long chain of siblings. There was no one before me, so I grew up alone. When I was younger, mi padre often encouraged my moments of mischief because he loved messing with humanity as well. So mi madre decided to take measures…”

“¿Tu madre…?”

“Sí. She’s the goddess known as La Muerte.” Sartana crushed the cigarette between her fingers, then threw it to the fire. “She gave me this guitar and taught me how to play. She even taught me how to weaponize it, so I was able to do magic anywhere, but… doing that ended causing me a lot of trouble.”

Ernesto stopped playing. His eyes seemed to study her. “Wanna talk about it?”

The goddess shook her head. “I’d rather forget about it… even if it is just for tonight. I guess you could blame my mother for my love of music. Everything started with this guitar.” She gently patted the instrument as if it was an old friend, then looked up to him. “What about you, Ernesto? Do you love music? Or just the fame that came with it?’”

The musician gulped. Was he… blushing? His silver soul markings shone with a light pink glow. “Well, I… I did love the fame... until I realized how bad it is to be famous when everyone hates you. But it wasn’t like that at the beginning. When I was young…” He went quiet for a moment and frowned.

Sartana reached for his shoulder. “Ernesto?”

Whatever he was thinking of, it seemed just a light touch was enough to snap him out of it. He shook his head, then turned to face her with a sad smile. “I’m not sure if you want to listen the story of poor little orphan Ernesto. It’s… a little sad.”

“Aren’t sad stories the best ones, though?” She rested her elbows on her knees, and her face was supported by her hands. Sartana offered him a smirk, the one that says “Go on” without words.

Ernesto chuckled lightly. “Well… Frequent skirmishes between our Seditionists and those gringos forced my family to leave me on the steps of Santa Cecilia’s church. My parents, my siblings, all them died in the war.” His voice grew bitter. “A war for nothing. I heard the gunshots, the screams. Blood was spilled that day. I couldn't… I couldn't save them.”

Sartana cocked her head. “I’m… sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine.” He shook his head. “It was a long time ago. But it wasn’t so bad, you know? I spent a lot of time playing with other children and sometimes…” He snickered at the memory. “Héctor and me snuck out to Mariachi plaza and joined the musical performances. We did it as much as we could. He was such a scrub, a charro hat would cover all his face and he’d keep smiling like a fool! And I just - I sang with every fiber of my being! Any song! Raunchy, loud or soft, I sang it all. The colors, the music, the audience... I loved everything! It was amazing. But... now it’s over...”

Sartana smiled. He did love music as much as fame, after all. She raised one hand, reaching to gently pluck the strings of her guitar. “You know… It isn’t over. Not as long as there’s someone you can play for.” She looked into his eyes. “Play for me, Ernesto. I want to listen the voice of the greatest musician of all of Mexico one more time.”

Maybe she could trust him with her guitar. He was just as broken inside as she was. And that’s what broken souls do. Find each other, hoping their cracks would fit together, to feel whole again, even if it was just an illusion. Just like the cracks on his face, barely holding themselves in place.

* * *

 

Ernesto felt a tight sensation in his ribcage. She was the first to use that title in a genuine way for what felt like an eternity. No mockery, no sarcasm. He could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t lying. She still… _believed in him_. He looked down, wondering if this joy was what Héctor felt toward his wife. No wonder why the scarecrow got so attached.

“Any requests?” He asked, getting up. If she wanted a performance, he’d give her his best.

“Mmmh…” Sartana rubbed her chin. “Definitely _‘Remember Me’._ ”

“Huh…” He flinched. That was one of Héctor’s songs. But it was also his most popular song. It wasn’t really a surprise she’d request that one. “Very well, I can play that song. But I need dancers for this performance.” He offered her his hand. “Will you dance with me, señorita?”

Sartana stared at his hand for a moment before taking it. “De acuerdo. But I haven’t danced in a long time…”

“Just have fun and follow my lead~” He winked at her and released a loud grito. Closing his eyes, Ernesto could travel in time and imagine the lights, the music and the glory.

 _“Remember me~,_ _  
_ _Though I have to say goodbye,_

 _Remember me,_ _  
_ _Don't let it make you cry!”_

The flames created sunspots under his eyelids, bringing fireworks to life in his mind; and the applause of the audience took shape under the crackle of fire. His feet guided him, following the same steps he did in that fateful concert.

_“For even if I'm far away…”_

The rocks nearby turned into an improvised escalator. He jumped over them with ease, until he reached Sartana. She was sweeping her long skirt through the air, like an experienced folkloric dancer. Ernesto wasn’t sure how it happened - but their bodies gravitated to each other, finally meeting at shoulders height.

_“I hold you in my heart…”_

When their bodies met, Ernesto could feel a tremble from Sartana's body. It could be the vibrations of the music. It could be excitement. Maybe... Maybe it could be more.

What if Sartana felt the same as he did?

Their eyes met. For the most brief of eternities, nothing else mattered. Could this song be his confession?

 _“I sing a secret song to you_  
_Each night we are apart~”_

The goddess shifted her position, pressing her back to his as she kept swooshing her skirt. Ernesto felt their frames press together, fitting as though they were two puzzle pieces.

 _“Remember me…”_   _“Remember me, remember me!”_

His eyes widened. Sartana was singing a chorus for him? This was too good to be true!

 _“Though I have to travel far,_ _  
_ _Remember me,”_   _“Remember me, remember me!”_

He started to jump over the rocks, making a beeline toward the highest of all. When he finally reached the last rock, he no longer saw their improvised camp, but the glorious club of Mexico City where he had done his last performance.

_“Each time you hear a sad guitar!!”_

Indulging in that fantasy, Ernesto untied the guitar from his back and handed it to an imaginary stagehand. Everything was perfect as it should be. He even winked an eye to Sartana, blushing slightly at the lyrics, so relevant to this moment.

 _“Know that I’m with you_ _  
_ _The only way that I can be…”_

He’d swear her soul markings were _sparkling_.

One thing was sure, that smile of hers was only for him. He opened his arms, singing to the skies above.

 _“Until you’re in my arms again~_ _  
_ _Remember meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-_ OOOFFF!!!”

Clearly bad luck chased him, because this time, he couldn’t finish the last note either. A gush of snow fell over this head, making him slip on his footing and fall to the ground. One would think this was one epic failure of a performance and a very cold way to return to reality - but nothing was further from the truth.

“Hahahahahahaha!”

Because his beautiful angel of death was laughing. Not sarcastic, not cruel. Just an unadulterated, genuine, adorable laugh leaving her lips, as she offered him her hand to stand up. “Pobrecito mío. Destiny really has a thing with you singing that song, uh?”

“Eso parece…” Ernesto accepted her hand. He squeezed it gently and propped himself up using one of his knees. “You… oh…” Once he stood, he realized how close they were and released her hand, letting his fingers brush over the sleeves of his suit instead. “You’re… really good at this…”

“M-muchas gracias…” From the corner of his eye, he could tell she was playing with her hair, with a shy smile on her face.

And then the magic of the moment broke. Realization hit both of them at the same time. She turned to him, her eyes full of fear.

“Ernesto, where’s my guitar?!”

* * *

 

“RIGHT HERE!!” Coco screamed, holding up the magical instrument. The usual peaceful expression on her face was gone, replaced by a scowl. "During all this journey, I really hoped to change you Ernesto! Even after all you did! I still remember when you bickered with my papá when I was little! The way you carried me in your arms! Where’s that man now?!”

Sure, he had been pretty rude to her. But through it all, the elderly lady had seen brief sparks of the man she had once loved as family. There was a man trapped within the monster, she hung onto that belief like a lifeline. How wrong she had been!

There was nothing like that. Not when they allowed themselves to use her song, (her father’s lullaby, for crying out loud!) to have fun and dance without a care in the world. It enraged her beyond all reason to wake up to music and hear _her song_ butchered like this. It was already painful enough in life - and now they were willing to keep using it even in death?

It was **unforgivable**.

Coco couldn't help but feel some satisfaction when she noticed the fear in Sartana’s eyes. It was especially delightful when the goddess turned to glare at her ‘uncle’. “Ernesto! You handed her my guitar?!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! I got… carried away!” Now he was scared too. He deserved all that pain and fear. _Ojo por ojo, diente por diente_.

It seemed something in those words made Sartana’s shoulders slump. “We’ll talk later.” She whispered to him, before her eyes returned to the golden instrument in her hands. “Coco, please. Give me back my guitar. You have no idea about how powerful it is…”

“I don’t need to know! You won’t play my papá’s song ever again!” She raised the guitar over her head with both hands.

“Coco, **NO**!!!” Ernesto cried out, holding a hand out to stop her.

Coco didn’t hesitate. The guitar met the ground, and a cracking noise filled the forest - followed suit by Sartana’s scream. Her entire skeleton released a white glow before she fell to her knees. Her arms showed some cracks - just like the ones on her guitar.

“Sartana!” Ernesto rushed to help her to stand on her feet.

“My… guitar…” She winced, her body still quivering.

“On it.” Ernesto stood up. All the warmth of his eyes was gone, leaving only a cold gaze. She felt fear capturing her heart in a tight grip as he approached her. “Coco, the guitar. **NOW**!”

“NO!!” Coco raised it again, and the guitar’s side shattered the moment it hit the floor. Sartana cried out again, a stronger flash ran over her body before she collapsed on the ground.

“SARTANA!”  This time, the elderly lady heard it clearly. The despair in Ernesto’s voice, and the clear noise of ribs breaking. The magic that held her chains together vanished. She was free! Free at last! So it wasn’t only her imagination... Sartana was connected to the guitar!

“Vete al infierno, hija de la chingada!” Coco screamed, ready to destroy the guitar once and for all. She raised the instrument one last time, but she felt a soul-crushing grip on her wrist.

Ernesto… wearing the scariest face she had ever seen.

“This is Sartana’s guitar!” He screamed, ripping the instrument from her hands before shoving her aside. Coco fell on the ground and covered her head, ready to be kicked… But that never happened. She lifted one hand to peek, and what she saw left her speechless.

“Sartana… Sartana, stay with me, yes? Here’s your guitar…” Ernesto placed Sartana’s guitar into her arms. The goddess clung to her instrument, still shaking like a leaf. Flashes of white light ran over her body.

“Ernesto… your prisoner… she…”

“She doesn’t matter anymore.” Ernesto picked up the goddess into his arms, holding her close. “She never did.” He sneered, before walking away.

They… they were going to abandon her here? Just like that? _No, it can’t be… right?_

“Ernesto…?”

Mist fell over the forest. Coco got up as fast as she could to follow them, but Ernesto was faster.

Very soon, Coco realized that they weren’t going to come back for her… and she was alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Coco is alone, Ernesto and Sartana are developing feelings for each other, and Manny, Frida and Django have a mission! Credits to my friends Squidberry Queen, Chioccetta and Morskijez for the puns! Your help is greatly appreciated! <3
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> "Mira" - "Look!"  
> Nana - short for "Grandma". Django refers to Sartana that way.  
> sí - yes  
> Mandilón - In this context, man who is weak / allows himself to be controlled by a woman.  
> (muchas) Gracias = Thank you (so much)  
> pendejo - idiot  
> mentiroso - liar  
> La pura neta - The whole truth  
> mi padre - my father  
> mi madre - my mother  
> Pobrecito mío - Poor thing (of mine)  
> “Eso parece…” - "It seems so..."  
> Ojo por ojo, diente por diente - Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth  
> “Vete al infierno, hija de la chingada!” - "Go to Hell, daughter of a bitch!"


	18. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

For Xibalba, it was easy to let his wife help the Riveras to find their missing daughter  in the Land of the Remembered. He knew the way Catrina could handle that place all on her own. What was hard was to return to his cold, withered castle without a trace of his troublesome daughter. Yet, being honest with himself… he had a bad feeling about Sartana’s plans. He knew his child too well.

Sartana only had one real reason to return after her banishment. It was the goddess who rested beyond that rusty door decorated with obsidian butterflies.

“Hola… It’s me. May I come in?” The tar god whispered as greeting.

“Adelante!” A soft voice answered.

Xibalba turned the handle and opened the door, revealing a beautiful bedroom. It was pretty simple, decorated with a bed of black wood and intricate designs etched on it.

“Buenos días, Itzpa.”

The purple sheets barely covered the young long-haired goddess lying underneath. She rose up and stretched both her arms and dull-colored butterfly wings; her curly pigtails fell gracefully over her chest. “I was… sleeping. Hmm…”  Then she rubbed her eyes. “¿Quién eres tú?”

Xibalba let out a quiet sigh. He sat by her side, smiling weakly. “It’s me, Papá. Remember? Papá Xibalba. I told you yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that…”

“Ohhh… I’m sorry, Papá. I always forget...” Her white eyes showed her blindness. Shaky hands reached timidly toward him. Xibalba held them up and brought her knuckles to his lips, leaving a little kiss on them. A shy smile filled her mouth.

“Está bien, mija. How do you feel today?” He asked, then cupped her face. His thumb brushed over the flame soul markings on her cheek, as she leaned into his touch.

“I had a dream, Papá.” Her hands covered his. They were small and petite - nothing like they used to be in the past.

Xibalba looked up to her, gazing into those eyes that stared at nowhere. He knew his daughter’s dreams weren’t something to be ignored. After all, Itzpa was the goddess of witchcraft and war. “What was that dream about?” he inquired, letting go of her.

Her eyelids fell over her eyes, casting a shadow of worry. She pursed her lips and started to play with her pigtails, ruffling them. “I dreamt of a big light and a great sacrifice. A new tree rose from the ashes, and a small owl slept for a century. His eyes carried a promise.” Her eyebrows rose up, and a soft blush made her soul markings shine. “It’s so beautiful, papá.”

The God of the Forgotten frowned. His daughter’s dreams had always been cryptic, but this was, by far, the strangest of them all. It seemed a happy dream - but he was still wary of it. After all, she mentioned a great sacrifice… but he wasn’t going to rain on her parade, especially when she considered this dream a nice one. “Sure it is.”he said, gently squeezing one of her hands into his. “Itzpa, mi vida… we have to talk.”

She squeezed his hand back, then edged forward until she could sit by his side. The warmth of her smile broke his heart. “Claro, papá. What is it?”

“It’s… it’s about you. Remember when I told you about…” Xibalba took a deep breath. Even saying her name was painful now. “...Sartana?”

“Sartana.” The name danced on her plump lips, but no emotion was attached to it. “Lo siento, I can’t remember. Who are they?”

“She… she’s your oldest sister. Mira.” The skeletal god let her go and clapped his hands, conjuring a figurine of Sartana made out of polychrome jasper. It showed how his daughter looked like right after her banishment: a white skeleton with sad eyes hidden by a large sombrero, red swirls as soul markings and a crimson dress to match. He handed it to Itzpa.

The butterfly goddess studied the figurine, running her fingers over it, learning the shapes and lines of her sister. “She’s pretty...” she mumbled, saving it in one of the pockets of her dress.

“And pretty crazy too, sadly. Or so think the Great Powers.” Xibalba shook his head. “She was who caused your memory problems… But I know she loved you. She never meant to hurt you.” Xibalba clenched his fist, struggling to find the words.

Itzpa cocked her head. “Papá…?”

Xibalba closed his eyes slowly and opened his hand. It was easy to resent the Great Powers over this - but they weren’t the ones to blame for Sartana’s banishment. In the end, those faults were his wife’s and his. A decision taken in the heat of the moment that he regretted for decades afterwards.

“What I’m trying to say is… she might be on her way here. Before she left, all those years ago… she told me that she’d return someday, and make things right…” He bit his bottom lip.

Her daughter lowered her wings. “I see. You fear what will happen if we run into each other.”

The god’s eyes went wide in shock. “What? No! No no no no. Well…” Now doubt was creeping into his heart. “Maybe… yeah? You’re safe here. Nothing bad should happen... Right?” He shrugged.

“Papá…” Itzpa fumbled over the sheets until her fingers found his. She interlaced them. “I’ll be fine. But if you’re so worried about Sartana… maybe you should go find her.”

“I’ve been searching for her with the help of your brother Quetzal in all the Land of the Forgotten all day, but… he’s exhausted. No one has seen her either.” The skeletal deity looked down and put his hand on top of hers.  “There must be something I’m missing. I don’t want to call up your other brothers on this, but… I’m starting to believe I’ll have to do so.”

“Or… you can see it from a different point of view. Maybe she’ll go to another place. When the most likely scenarios fail to meet your expectations, you must be open-minded to start considering the impossible.” Itzpa cocked her head and smiled. “Don’t you think?”

“Lo imposible…” Xibalba echoed. Her words lit up an idea on top of his head, and the flames of his crown flickered, growing bigger. A wicked grin filled his mouth. “That’s it!” He cupped Itzpa’s face into his hands and kissed her forehead. “Gracias, mi vida! You’re such a smart girl! Now I know what to do.” The god got up and walked to the door. “Don’t stay up late and get more rest, alright? I might not come back until tomorrow.”

“Claro, Papá.” Itzpa cocked her head and smiled warmly at him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, mi niña. Adiós!”

As soon as he closed the doors, Xibalba shapeshifted into a wave of smoke. He teleported to the backyard of his castle, where Quetzal was resting after several hours of non-stop flight. He was under the form of a lava snake, all curled up, too lazy to change back to his human form. When the giant ophidian noticed his presence, he flicked its tongue as greeting.

The black and green god reached to pet his head. “Are you ready for another flight, mijo?”

The draconian creature let out a low rumble, voicing its refusal. Xibalba petted his cheek. “Lo sé. I know you’re tired. We were searching in the wrong places, when there’s just one person who might have the answers. You’ll rest when all of this is over, I promise.”

Another annoyed huff. In moments like this, Xibalba remembered that Quetzal was still a god. A snake-shaped god at the moment, but still a deity nonetheless. “Vamos, Quetzal. It’s for Sartana. She used to give you treats when she thought no one was looking. You two are siblings.”

Quetzal raised his head and narrowed its eyes. Xibalba looked back at him, the seriousness of his eyes fading into worry. The snake flickered its tongue one more time and lowered its head, allowing Xibalba to jump on.

“Gracias, mijo. To the Land of the Cursed!”

* * *

Separated from all the other Lands of the Dead, the Land of the Cursed was an island that stood out like a sore thumb. It was surrounded by a lake of lava and an extensive wasteland of sand where nothing could grow. Menacing, sharp spikes posed as trees, creating jail bars with their shadows. Within the island, the home to the cursed souls took the shape of a western town plunged into eternal dusk. The heat was overwhelming, but that didn’t stop El Chamuco from ruling with an iron fist as tough as the metals produced by the souls that afterlived under his reign.

For such a small kingdom, the Land of the Cursed was a handful. And how couldn’t it be, when it was technically a prison? This place was the last stop for the scum of humanity. Every villain found eternal punishment for their sins in this place. Several bars and canteens offered the only comfort those twisted souls could find.

Nothing in this kingdom could be considered beautiful, except for El Chamuco’s castle: a trident-shaped hematite structure with vivid red embellishments. Many of those decorations represented the fire god administrating punishments to his subjects, with a wicked grin in each engraving.

Every day, as always, El Chamuco watched his subjects from his castle. Despite the engravings showing a different story, he wasn’t interested in getting any closer to them. Not anymore, at least, since many skeletons in his kingdom had turned as black as their souls, carrying ashes that they could could never wash off their bones. These criminals were prone to fight each other, and rare was the day where he didn’t have to send a few agents to stop the violence - even if it was just briefly.

The incandescent deity rotated his butterfly knife with a swing of his hand. Watching those fights was like watching dogs fight to death. Too bad there was no blood left to make these moments more entertaining…!

It was then when he heard a noise coming from the sky. Since his land was the very last level of the Lands of the Dead, he was often the last one receiving any news. He opened the window and walked to the balcony, trying to find out the source of the noise. It sounded like… wings. Big ones. Which only could mean one thing.

His flimsy hands closed the knife as he gripped the bone railing. His eyes went wide as he recognised the winged stone snake flying toward him.

“Quetzal!” he exclaimed, stepping back. “It’s been so long, mijo!”

The ophidian deity spun in the air, performing a graceful stunt and curling its long body around the center section of the trident, letting its head land on the balcony. It was then El Chamuco realised that Quetzal wasn’t alone. “Ah… it’s you, too… Hermano.”

There he stood: Xibalba, his little brother, the nuisance incarnated that got both of them in so much trouble. That burned fallen angel had some nerve coming to visit him...

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly a pleasure to see you either, brother. And I wouldn’t bother visiting this dumpster if it wasn’t for a good reason.” Xibalba ran a finger over the railing, smashing some dust between his fingers. “For the love of everything, Chamuco, you’re such a huevón. When was the last time you cleaned the dust? This is disgusting…”

El Chamuco’s eyes reflected a burst of flames exploding within. He made up a fake cough to cover up, as some smoke escaped his ears. “No mames... You might be an expert on cleaning the trash that your wife leaves behind, but you’re not my supervisor, Xibalba”, he feigned a smile, as he started to play with his butterfly knife. “Why don’t you go back to your own land?” he finished, his tone saccharine.

“I would, but there are pressing matters to talk about.” Oh, something troubled his little brother? Anything capable to annoy him was a lure for the scarlet deity. Xibalba took a step forward. “Do you still have that Rivera rat under your watch?”

“Maybe?” El Chamuco stopped his fiddling. Amusement sparkled within his eyes. “Surprisingly, he’s still ‘alive’. Well, as alive as a charred skeleton can be. Why do you ask?”

“I need to see him.” Xibalba turned to his right, walking straight into the castle.

“Why so? Did you find new ways in which he deflowered your precious child?” At his remark, his brother glared at him. “What? I'm just stating facts.”

“You're the worst. Pinche güey…” The black and green god sighed afterwards. “Look, Chamuco… Maybe you don't care if Sartana goes around stealing skeletons of your subjects or mine in the Land of the Living to reanimate them later. I used to ignore that too, it's children's play after all. But now things are different.”

That shift in his tone let the magma god know games were over. “What do you mean?”

“Sartana has returned.” Xibalba murmured in a pained voice. “And she took two souls of the Land of the Remembered with her. Catrina and I are trying to find her, but we had no luck so far. That's why I need to see him. He’s the one who started all this mess.”

El Chamuco could see murder in his brother's eyes. He gave him a wicked grin. “I have ways to make him speak. Ah, I haven't tortured him for a while! This will be fun. Sígueme.”

Flopping his huge membranous wings, the lava deity still noticed how his brother stayed back a moment to touch his son’s cheek. “Wait for me here, Quetzal. I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

As they descended through the spiral stairs into the dungeons reserved for the most despicable of evils, Xibalba could hear a chorus of screams. He noticed Chamuco organized every cell taking the tone of their cries of agony into account. Soprano, contralto, baritone and tenor. Only his brother was morbid enough to make music out of pain…

The worst dungeon was a cave on the bottom of a sealed volcano. A pool of lava flooded the place, and rock spikes surrounded it. Several long, black chains held something submerged under the burning surface.

“Let's see if he's talkative today.” Chamuco jumped from the ledge and kicked against one of the spikes, said spike was long enough for them to stand on. When the god of the cursed clapped his hands the chains slowly ascended, revealing the victim of their rage: a blackened, short skeleton man with bright red soul markings. Chains were attached to his wrists and ankles, pulling his body taut in opposite directions, like a victim on the rack. The skeleton coughed and lifted his head, directed by the sound of his captors.

“Ahh… look who came to visit… los demonios del Averno… Tarugos número Uno y Dos.” he wheezed, clearly breathless.

El Chamuco shook his head. “Looks like four years drowning in lava aren't enough to break your will. It would be better if you begged for mercy. I’ll have to think of worst ways to achieve that goal.”

“Chamuco, not now.” Xibalba stepped between his brother and the prisoner. Then he turned to face the man who tore his family to pieces.

The skeleton was completely exposed and garmentless. Every hair of his moustache was pretty much scorched. His glasses had fused with what was left of his eyes, metals and melted glass slowly cracking his eye sockets in a boundless agony.

 _He deserves it. He deserves every second of pain_ , he thought.

“Jorge Rivera…”

“I go more by Grandpapi Rivera these days… but whatever floats your boat.” The skeleton seemed unfazed. “If you're here to demand me again to acknowledge that abomination your daughter gave birth to as my son, come back in one thousand years. Maybe by then I’ll be crazy enough to accept, hahahaha!”

The flames in Xibalba's crown grew large and bright. He spread his wings and floated toward him. He grabbed his cervical spine into his hands and squeezed it, taking some of his afterlife energy with his touch.

“Don't you dare to talk about my grandson like that, pinche pendejo”, he hissed, tightening his grip to the point where his bones started to crack. Chamuco’s punishments were one thing, but sucking afterlife energy from a still conscious skeleton was the most excruciating pain imaginable.

“AAAAAAAARGGHHHH!!!!!” Jorge screamed and kicked his legs. “PLEASE, STOP! STOP! Have some mercy, please! AAAAARGGHHHHH!!!!!!”

Xibalba still remembered that fateful day, back in 1962. Sartana had been so excited preparing everything for her wedding. She was a young woman full of dreams, carrying a small bundle of joy under her sugar skin. But her dreams never became a reality. The sun went down and Jorge never came to the church. By the time they found him, he was already in the arms of another woman.

How many tears did his daughter shed that day? After her banishment, Xibalba knew Sartana tried to get Jorge to support her. But he never did. He left her to raise that poor child alone. And yet, year after year, she kept trying - until he died. That should have been the end of everything - but her silence spoke more than her actions. Those emotional scars were too deep, and they wouldn’t heal anytime soon.

“Hopefully now you’ll show more respect for your son.” Xibalba let him go. Torturing Jorge wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he was growing tired of his screams.

The moment the old skeleton was free, a weak, broken laugh escaped him. “V-vete a chingar a tu madre… Y-you know i-it doesn't matter. That kid never should have been born. Sartana could have stopped the pregnancy if she wanted, she could have saved her godly status and everything, but...”

Xibalba bit his bottom lip. His spider-like hands tightened around his snake staff, the only comfort object he could latch on at the moment. These words pierced his heart, especially when he knew Jorge was right. Sartana had the power to save herself, and yet… her love for that little life growing inside her was bigger than the love she had for herself. And that was ultimately her doom.

“...In the end, she chose to carry that little monster to term. But ah, let's punish the guy who never wanted to get commitment to a death goddess, shall we?”

Xibalba looked up, rage filling his red skull irises. He was about to say something when Chamuco clicked his fingers. The chains dropped Jorge back the lava pool. The skeleton wailed until the hot liquid engulfed him completely. Only when he was out of sight, the elder god reached to touch Xibalba's shoulder and glanced right into his eyes.

“Estoy bien.” Xibalba shook his head and covered his face for a moment. “Pull him out. This idiota sure likes to taunt us now he knows there's life after death…”

“I don't mind having him there until the end of time, you know.” His brother's words rang honest to the god of the forgotten. Knowing El Chamuco was willing to torture this bastard  was… heartwarming, to say the least. A small smirk cracked the anxiety on his face.

“I know. But he is the only one who knows things of Sartana that we ignore. He probably knows why she returned. Let's get this over with...”

“Muy bien. As you wish.” El Chamuco clicked his fingers again, and the chains raised the skeleton out of its fiery prison. He began to play again with his butterfly knife, making clicking noises in tune with the pops of the lava bubbles.

Jorge let out a ragged breath and snarled. If he still had eyes, there was no doubt he’d be glaring at the gods. “What do you want of me, you freaks? Having me drown in lava for years isn't enough torture for you?!”

“It will never be enough to make up for the way you tore my family apart!” Xibalba snapped, getting on his face level.

“That isn't true. Look, we were young, she looked hot at the time, my hormones were kicking and I just had a fun time with her. She could have covered up more those curves, wear less revealing clothing, act coy, you know the drill. Besides... As far as she told me, you were the one to banish her to the Land of the Living.”

The smirk on their prisoner's skull made the green ectoplasm of his neck boil. Xibalba grabbed his chin and forcefully tipped down his head to whisper in the hole where his ears used to be. “Don't tempt your luck, Rivera. Your other grandson might be El Tigre, but he can’t rescue you now.”

At the mention of his living grandchild, Jorge’s voice fell into a humbler tone. “Then, why are you here?”

Xibalba released him and crossed his arms. “Sartana returned to the Land of the Dead. You must know why.”

“Heh. As if I could understand her sick mind, por favor.” Jorge seemed genuinely surprised and amused, all at once. “I wonder why she would do such a thing. She has no business here. She was banished, and she doesn’t have much time left…”

The _click-click-click_ noise of the butterfly knife stopped.

“What do you mean with _‘she doesn’t have much time left’_...?” Chamuco crept behind Xibalba. “Gods can’t die. It’s a fact.”

“But the ones who were stripped of their godhood can. In fact…” Jorge’s lips moved silently  as he thought over his words. “I saw her dying... **_several times_ ** … Every time her Mystical Guitar was destroyed.”

Xibalba flinched and stepped back in horror. 

His little girl, who used to fly by his side. His baby, the same he sang so many times to sleep while his wife played the guitar.

Sartana.

 **_Dying_ **.

It was more than the god could take. “N-no…” he shook his head. “No puede ser…”

“Oh yes, it can be.” Jorge continued with a smirk. “I’m not sure who helped her to come back from the dead so many times. She should have stayed here where she belongs.” he scoffed.

“...That’s the only thing where we agree.” Xibalba murmured, turning around. “This conversation is over. Chamuco, you can make this volcano his last grave.”

An audible cracking noise could be heard as Jorge’s jaw went slack. The skeleton began to kick again, struggling against his chains. “Xibalba, you monster! I helped you now, didn’t I? Now you owe me one! LET ME GO!! **LET ME GO**!!!!!”

Xibalba turned around. The fear and anger in Jorge’s face was a delightful catharsis that never failed to make him feel better, no matter how bad he felt about himself. “I never said I would release you if you helped me, Jorge. Sometimes, you only have to do whatever it takes to find the truth.” he said, clicking his fingers. “Adiós.”

“No, no, please, **NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”**

Despite his cries for mercy, the chains pulled the last of the Rivera villains back to his boiling cell. Xibalba didn’t look back, he didn’t need to do it. The simple sound of the butterfly knife swinging by his side let him know his brother had finished dealing with the prisoner.

As they walked upstairs, none of them spoke. Jorge had dropped a bomb on them. What really mattered now was the fact their beloved Sartana was _dying_. And what was even worse...

“The Candle Maker...” El Chamuco muttered, his eyes on the floor.

Xibalba clenched his fists. “That old wax man knew what was going on and he just… didn’t tell us.” His voice was actually drenched in sadness and disappointment. “How could he...?”

“I don’t know, hermano. Maybe he did it because he’s the guardian of balance?” Chamuco hesitated. “This isn’t the first time he’s hidden information from us. He’s pretty shady when you think of it.” He held the knife tightly. The weapon shapeshifted into a large dragon trident. “Remember how he just… said nothing when the Great Powers ripped off Sartana’s wings?”

“How could I forget…”

The tar god was the first reaching the balcony, where Quetzal waited. The younger deity had shapeshifted back into his human form - a young bearded man with sparkly white sugar skin and rich green, gold and red robes. His cheeks and forehead showed turquoise feather soul markings; and blue highlights and emerald feathers decorated his black hair.

“You came back! Did you find the answers you wanted? ” He walked up to them. His smile soon faded, clearly his son had noticed the shadow beneath his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Xibalba touched Quetzal’s shoulder. “Not the answer I wanted, but a truth I needed. Quetzal, we must go…”

The God of the Forgotten couldn’t keep talking. A red droplet fell on his son’s cheek. Followed by another, and another one. A rare sight in the Land of the Cursed, since as far as he knew, this place had never been blessed with rain. But… this was something else.

Quetzal was the first to notice it, when he stared at the way the droplets slid into his hands. “Is… Is this…?”

Thick. Ruddy. Hot. Pulsing with life…

“BLOOD!” Xibalba gasped and turned to Chamuco, his eyes wide in shock. Only La Noche had the power to bring any kind of rain; and she used it mainly in the Land of the Living. Not in here. Much less with bloody fluids. Which only could mean one thing...

La Noche was in **danger**!

El Chamuco’s eyes bulged. “LUNA!” The lava god screamed, extending his bat wings. He would have flown away if Xibalba hadn’t grabbed his wrist. “Let me go! I must go to her!” he growled.

“Espera, Chamuco! You can’t leave the Land of the Cursed just like that! All your prisoners could escape if you don’t leave someone in charge, remember?” He remarked with quiet empathy. “I do care for Luna as well, but please... Stay here. You know you can barely fly with those. Even if you tried, Quetzal and me would get to the Land of the Unknown sooner.”

“And what do you suggest?! For you it’s easy to talk about this! You haven’t...” Chamuco jabbered at first, but he knew better. And so did Xibalba. “No...You did...” He gave up and returned to the balcony, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright, I’ll stay, but…”

Xibalba released him and gave a pointed gaze to his son. “Quetzal, get ready to leave.” Then he looked back to his brother. “The Candle Maker can wait, this takes priority. I’ll find Opocht and Huixt. I’m sure Opocht can help her.”

“Just go!” Chamuco demanded, clearly not willing to keep him there any longer.

“Luna will be alright, I promise. Quetzal, vámonos!”

Quetzal nodded and shapeshifted. His body vanished in a puff of green feathers, and in the blink of an eye, it became the giant winged lava snake that everyone feared in the Land of the Forgotten.

Xibalba jumped on his back; and very soon, father and son were soaring into the skies once again.

* * *

Once her father left, Itzpa turned to the dim light coming from outside. Her empty eyes couldn’t see anything beyond that faded radiance.

The butterfly goddess considered returning to her cocoon. Warm blankets and cozy sheets always made her feel at ease. It was nice and safe. It was what her father wanted, too. But today, things were different. She heard a noise. It seemed her father hadn’t locked something… it sounded like a window lock, yes. A slight wind blew the doors open, fluttering the silky curtains and blowing a few leaves and petals in across the floor. The breeze teased her face and made her giggle.

This wind brought new and oddly familiar scents. Marigolds? Dahlias? Roses?

So many flowers, she couldn’t pull all the smells apart. When there were so many aromas fused as one, probably there was a garden out there. She closed her eyes and covered her ears, struggling to focus - until a single petal grazed her foot, drawing her attention. Itzpa picked up the petal and sniffed it. This was definitely a marigold petal.

Weren’t marigolds meant to… draw paths? Ways to guide… people? Souls?

_A way to connect something from one point to another._

Like in her dreams - the only memories that stayed with her. Those dreams showed images that were connected to each other. And now, she was feeling that same connection. Something within her chest pulled her to move, to find that place.

Hesitant bare feet took her to the window, following the path of the wind in her wings. She suspected her window was connected to that garden. Getting there would be easy if she dared to fly… but could she? How far would she go?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move toward the end. Sartana walks on the thin line between life and death, Ernesto is beginning to realize what love truly is, Coco is trapped in the Forest of the Lost, the Rivera and Sánchez families are on the move, family secrets are about to come out... And through it all, Itzpa's dreams might be key for the future. Stay tuned for the next chapter!
> 
> Special thanks to Appatary8523 for being my Mexican consultor in this chapter. Also thanks SquidberryQueen for your suggestion of the butterfly knife as the "small form" of Chamuco's weapon!  
> Just like La Muerte has a regular name (Catrina), her sister has also a name (Luna).  
> For more information on El Chamuco, check his wiki page: http://bookoflife.wikia.com/wiki/El_Chamuco  
> Quetzal is 50% OC, 50%canon. He's based in this character who was cut from TBOL: http://bookoflife.wikia.com/wiki/Quetzocoatl  
> Music of this chapter is "Home to Dragons" from Planet Earth 2 OST: https://youtu.be/X6Xvx6SGDG0
> 
> PD: Gutiérrez revealed that Sartana was banished in 1962, so I fixed the year of her first failed wedding. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Hola - Hello  
> Adelante - Come in!  
> Buenos días - Good morning  
> “¿Quién eres tú?” - Who are you?  
> Papá - Dad  
> mija / mijo - my daughter / my son  
> Claro - Of course  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry  
> “Lo imposible…” - The impossible  
> “Gracias, mi vida!" - "Thank you, my life"  
> Adiós - Bye  
> "Lo sé" - I know  
> "Vamos" - Come on  
> Hermano - Brother  
> Huevón - In this context, it means extremely lazy  
> No mames - In this case, it's basically an expression of annoyance  
> Pinche güey/pinche pendejo - 'Pinche' can be added to almost everything to make it a superlative (often negative) + guy / asshole  
> Sígueme - Follow me  
> los demonios del Averno - demons from Hell  
> Tarugos número Uno y Dos - Dummies number One and Two  
> Grandpapi - A fun form to refer to a grandfather~  
> "Vete a chingar a tu madre" - “Go and fuck your mother”  
> “Estoy bien.” - "I'm alright"  
> idiota - idiot  
> Muy bien - Very well  
> por favor - please  
> “No puede ser…” - "It can't be"  
> “Espera, Chamuco!" - "Wait, Chamuco!"  
> vámonos! - let's go!


	19. Cenote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel reveal the mystery of two guitars and save Mamá Coco in time?

Miguel’s stomach churned at the view before his eyes. He stepped back, staring at the deep sinkhole ripping the earth beneath his feet. A cenote.

Why did La Muerte bring them here? Only in his nightmares had he returned to the cenote where Ernesto’s goons dumped him after he found out the truth. This was a different one, but still...

Miguel took a deep breath. “Do we really have to go in there?”

“There's other ways to reach our destination, but this is the fastest.” La Muerte explained. She extended a hand, and a wave of marigold petals created a path to the bottom for them. The two families descended hesitantly: Julio and Rosita were first, Victoria was next, then the Sánchez trio, the twin couples afterwards, and his great-great-grandparents would be last. Imelda in the meantime climbed onto Pepita and offered a hand to Héctor to join.

Itchpo took Miguel's hand. “It’s OK to be afraid of heights. I’m with you, don’t worry.”

Miguel silently stared at her marigold wings. Didn't she say she couldn't fly with those yet? He squeezed her hand. Worst case scenario, he’d have to help her if she fell...

“I appreciate the offer, but… I’d rather ride on Pepita. You can come with us, if you want?”

Itchpo’s shamrock eyes lit up at the idea. “Really? Can I?”

“Of course! That is… if Mamá Imelda approves…” Miguel gave a whistle to his alebrije. “Come on, Dante!”

Being mentioned caught Mamá Imelda’s attention and had her look over to him now. Watching her ride Pepita always intimidated Miguel a bit - but it was just fair; not everyone could get a giant jaguar as spirit guide. He let go of Itchpo and rubbed his arm nervously.

“Mamá Imelda… Can Itchpo and me ride on Pepita with you? Just until we get to the bottom… please?”

“Itchpo?” Imelda looked to his right, watching the young goddess holding three chihuahuas with one of her arms and some help of her wings. “I guess we can do it, since it isn’t a long distance, right Pepita?”  she said, stroking her fur. The jaguar purred in appreciation and knelt to let them climb.

Miguel stared at the fussy dogs in Itchpo’s arms. It would be dangerous for her to fly while carrying these three little nightmares. “Let me help you with those.” he said and picked up two of them. Then he climbed up on Pepita, right after Héctor.

Dante was barking, encouraging Itchpo to climb up as well. Miguel could tell she was a little nervous, the way she kept looking the big cat up and down. “It’s safe, Itchpo”, he said. “Pepita won’t drop you, I promise.”

* * *

Itchpo stared at Miguel. With one arm, he was holding her puppies; and with his free hand, he offered her help to climb up. After a moment of hesitation, she took it and climbed as well, while holding the last chihuahua close to her chest.

“If you say so… I’ve never ridden an alebrije this big,” she excused herself.  

“Nunca?” Miguel’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“No. Unless you count the piggyback rides on my big brother’s animal forms… AAAHHH!” Itchpo screamed when Pepita took off. Her wing hung onto Miguel and she heard the chihuahuas whine. Was it hot in here, or were her cheeks warming up?

“Are you talking about Xochi?” Miguel asked, apparently not bothered at all. She looked up, feeling the wind on her hair. Now that she could see her surroundings, Itchpo noticed that Miguel kept an eye on her family. Xochi was leading the way, walking next to their mother.

“No, not him. Xochi has great magical abilities, but he can’t shapeshift into a Mystical Beast just yet. I was talking about my other brothers... Well, four of them. Zacapi can’t do it either.” She mumbled, her breathing evening the moment Pepita finally landed at the bottom of the cenote.

The rocky island beneath was covered by remains of old statues. Something about the way Miguel, Héctor and Imelda went quiet the moment their feet touched the ground let Itchpo know cenotes held no good memories for either of them. Luckily they weren’t alone. Their families were here, all together. It was a comforting thought, until the chihuahuas began barking. At the same time, she noticed Dante push Miguel to her. What was that xolo trying to do? Get him to help her climb down?

It wasn’t like she couldn’t do it herself. Itchpo shifted her legs, brought both of them to one side and opened her wings. It seemed she would do a fine landing, as she made it down from Pepita… but then she tripped on a rock.

“Eeeek!”

“Itchpo!”

She heard Miguel’s voice and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the impact. But that blow never came. Itchpo opened one eye, just to realise her face wasn’t meeting the cold floor, but warm fabric instead. It was Miguel’s hoodie!

“Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

She blinked and pulled away, realizing that Miguel caught her. Her soul markings glowed with a neon green light. “N-no… Gracias!”

“No problem.” Miguel smiled, releasing her. Then he handed her the chihuahuas. “Here, you can keep them. I think they like you more”, he chuckled.

“I like them too.” Itchpo hugged the three dogs and nuzzled them. She knew alebrijes weren’t only pets, but these chihuahuas were adorable!

“You love animals, don't you?” Miguel asked, curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, I don't rule over them, but I love them”, she giggled. “Papá used to bring stray alebrijes home and I helped him to take care of them, and…”

A warm hand on her shoulder made her flinch. She turned around, only to find familiar snowy locks just a few inches away from her face.

“Xochi!” She blushed deeply and stepped back. Did he see what just happened…?

“What are you two doing?” her brother scowled. Now she knew that he definitely saw. She looked at Miguel, whose cheeks turned just as red as hers.

“Nothing, I was just… helping her…” Miguel excused himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Really? Then you won’t mind if I take her back with me. Vamos, Itchpo.” Xochi didn’t wait for his answer, he simply wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the musician boy.

Itchpo pouted and tried to pull away from him. “Xochi, we weren’t doing anything wrong. You’re overreacting...”

“Me? Overreacting? OVERREACTING!?” Xochi’s crimson eyes darkened. “Don’t lie to me, Itchpo!” His voice lowered. “You think I’m stupid? I know the way you’ve been looking at him since we’ve met. And I can sense your feelings clear as day. You can't crush on him, hermanita... Do you even remember who his great-great-granduncle is?"

“I’m not crushing on him!” Itchpo broke free from his grip, frowning. Her soul markings felt on fire, but she wouldn’t back off. “Besides, Miguel is sweet and caring. He is nothing like that man.”

“We don’t know that!” Her twin stepped forward, closing the distance once again. “I don’t want you to end up like… like Sartana. Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you?!”

“I don’t need your protection! And you don’t get to decide my future! I am old enough to take my own decisions, muchas gracias…” Itchpo walked past him, avoiding his gaze.

It hurt her to see Xochi so unsupportive. His fears were legit… but so were her feelings, right? She appreciated Miguel’s company, and she wanted to enjoy it for as long as she could. After all, she was a goddess, and he was human. Dreaming of love, even just friendship… it was just not possible.

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought. Itchpo held the puppies protectively and rushed to join her mother at the beginning of the queue.

La Muerte's surprised face soon turned into a concerned one. “Itchpo? Are you alright?”

“Por favor, Mamá. Not now.”

She remained stoic and didn’t say anything else. But if anyone paid enough attention, they’d notice her bottom lip trembling. Her heart was too soft for arguments like this...

* * *

“Mi Señora?” Manolo put a hand on the wall, squinting at the engravings on the rock. “What are you searching for?”

“A door.” La Muerte fumbled for the lock hidden on the walls, not really paying him attention. Was it three stones to the left, two to the right? Or the other way around? It was hard to focus when she was worried for Itchpo. She suspected something was off with her youngest children. “It’s been forever…”

It was then that she heard an audible click, followed by the noise of gears at work. The sugar deity opened her arms to draw the attention of the two families.

“Riveras, Sanchez's… Welcome to the Gods’ Train Station!”

La Muerte stepped aside and the door raised, emitting a blinding light - just for a moment. She chuckled at the “Ooooh” and “Aaaah” that María, Héctor, Rosita and Miguel voiced. Even Victoria adjusted her glasses. “Ok, now… this. This is beautiful”, she muttered.

The Gods’ Train Station was like nothing ever seen in the Land of the Remembered. It was built within a cave full of giant colored crystals and gemstones, whose colors flickered under La Muerte's touch. A marigold railway turntable stood at the center of the station, and from it several railroad tracks began their journey across the lands.

“Síganme and don't talk to anyone else. This place can be dangerous. Many minor deities and demigods visit this place. Not all of them are friendly” La Muerte said, taking Itchpo's hand. By the way Itchpo squeezed her hand in return and Xochi kept his distance, she suspected her children had argued. Again.

Then Oscar and Felipe screaming had her turn around to see what was going on. Of course, it had to be _him_. A young pink haired god, with sugar skin, blue eyes and chocolate freckles all over his face, who wore brown trousers and a simple green sleeveless shirt. An elegant red cape, gold bracelets, a white flower crown, a black sash and sandals completed his aesthetic.  

“ **Oh. My. Self!** These outfits are soooooo 1920’s! And these leather… aprons? TRASH!” He had grabbed handfuls of fabric of the twins’ shirts. Adelita and Scardelita pointed their guns at him, but the flamboyant deity couldn’t care any less: Héctor became his next target. “And you - are you wearing patches?! What an offense to my poor, poor eyes! You shall not pass! Not until you get a proper makeover!”

“A makeover…?” Héctor wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that.

“Of course, mi amigo! And given there’s no one else better around, you’ll get it from yours truly!” He opened his arms, throwing a bunch of pink glitter over himself. “I’m the god of force, lord of the seasons and rebirth, ruler of the East! The one and only…!”

“XIPETO!” La Muerte called him out. “Get your hands off him!”

The deity gasped and shrunk right away. Several flowers on his crown lost their petals. “O-oh! Hola, madre! I-I swear I wasn’t ignoring your calls, I’ve been just very busy preparing the arrival of the autumn for the North and the spring for the South… Right now I was about to board the train to go to your castle!” He excused himself with an awkward grin before he winked an eye to Héctor. “Call me for that _makeover_ anytime, querido~”

Imelda pulled Héctor close to her. “He’s my husband, I’m the only one who can do that! Vade retro, Satanás!”, she hissed.

La Muerte couldn’t help but chuckle at such scene. “It’s all good, Imelda. No reason to fear. Everyone, this is another of my children, Xipeto.” She let go of Itchpo to put her hands on his shoulders. “Spring and autumn will have to wait until September, mijo. A family reunion is coming.”

All color left the god’s rosy cheeks the moment she uttered those words. “Why is that?” he asked, fear leaking in a whisper. “Don't tell me… she…”

La Muerte despised to be the bringer of bad news, but her son deserved to know. “Sí... Sartana managed to sneak in the Land of the Remembered and took two souls with her.” The scarlet goddess answered, sighing.

“What?!” Xipeto stepped back, horror written on his face. “When you sent me those telepathic messages you said it was urgent, but you didn’t say our sister came back! This is not an urgency! This is a **disaster**!”

* * *

Héctor froze on the spot.

                                                                             Sister.                            ** _Sister_. **

So this Sartana wasn’t any minor goddess. She was daughter to the main rulers of the Land of the Dead! In that case, she had to be incredibly powerful. Maybe she inherited the powers from both of her parents. And if this tidbit wasn’t terrifying enough - he had to consider that fate had decided to throw Ernesto to the mix as well...

Coco was alone with a crazy major goddess AND a murderer…

His knees grew weak, to the point that he had to lean on Imelda. It was only then that he felt her hand patting on his cheekbone, and she… she was calling his name.

“Héctor! HÉCTOR!”

“Ah!!” He gasped, waking up from his reverie, and his eyes recovered his focus. “I… I’m sorry…” He shook his head, as if he could shake the fog from his mind as well.

“It’s alright.” She gave him a soft smile. “Stay here with me, sí?”

“S-Sí.” His hand found Imelda’s. He interlaced their phalanges, seeking comfort. “Did you just say… Sartana is… your sister…?”

“Well, yeah, she is… Ouch!” Xipeto looked down, just to find it was Xochi who’d elbowed him. “Hey, why did you do that, renacuajo?”

“You couldn’t keep your stupid mouth closed, right?” The white-haired child pouted.

“Let him be, Xochi.” Itchpo broke her silence to defend their older sibling. “We… well, Mom didn’t want them to know.”

“And why is that?” Imelda released him, and Héctor missed her warmth right away. “Because if you are worried about us not trusting your abilities, don’t worry. I lost my faith the moment Sartana managed to take my Coco away.” she growled.

“Imelda… Please.” Héctor didn’t want Imelda to take off her boot again. He touched her shoulder, then looked up to La Muerte. “We can’t waste more time here. I assume each one of these trains will take us to a different land... Which one do I have to take to go to the Land of the Forgotten?”

La Muerte nodded. Héctor could tell she was too tired to argue back. “It's the second train. The grey one with the winged snake decorations”, she answered, before pointing to a black train with flame engravings. “That one will take you to the Land of the Cursed. And the blue train besides it, that one leads to the Land of Unknown. All the trains stop at the Cave of Souls, each one next to the magic waterfall you'll have to jump through to reach each land.”

“That last one is our train.” Julio declared, adjusting his hat. Then he beckoned Victoria and Rosita to follow. “Girls, here with me!”

Rosita gave Imelda a tight good-luck-hug, while Héctor was surprised to receive a cheek kiss from Victoria. The musician turned to his son-in-law. “Julio…”

“If she’s there, I’ll find her.” A smile lifted the old skeleton’s moustache. “Nothing will stop me from finding my wife.”

Héctor smiled as well. It was kind of ironic how Julio, who was usually so afraid of everyone and everything, could become this brave when Coco’s safety was at stake. “Gracias.”

“Wait, the sticks decided Joaquín and me are going with you guys too!” María called out to them. “Let us say goodbye at least!”

“It won’t take us long!” Joaquín added, before he reached out to Manolo. The two of them exchanged a quiet glance of mutual understanding before the soldier pulled the guitarist for a hug. “Stay safe, alright?”

“I’ll be fine. After all, this isn’t the first time I go there. Or so says La Muerte.” Manolo chuckled, patting his back. Then he pulled María into the hug as well.

“Even if it isn’t your first time, or even if we’re dead… Don’t pull another stunt like the Corn Incident to prove you’re as macho as Joaquín, alright?” María whispered and kissed his cheek.

“We do not talk about the Corn Incident.” Manolo smirked and kissed both of them goodbye. “You two, take care as well. Nos vemos pronto.” Then he let go of them and walked toward Miguel and Héctor. “I’m ready to go.”

“I am…” Héctor began to say, when he found a familiar hand tugging his vest. _Imelda_.

“I’m not ready yet… Just give us a moment!” His wife said, before turning to him. She cupped his cheekbone, and Héctor leaned into her touch like a puppy. She had that much power over him. “Will you be OK? I mean… The Land of The Forgotten. There’s a chance you’ll see them again.”

A weak chuckle escaped him. “Es una posibilidad… but that’s nothing in comparison to what you got. The Land of the Cursed, no less! Maybe we can still trade. I mean… I do trust Oscar and Felipe… and their girlfriends are capable fighters, but…” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to lose you again. If something happened… I don’t know if I could take it…”

Next thing Héctor knew, the warmth of her lips practically crashed against his. His surprise soon melted away, leaving only warmth as he kissed her back.

“Bleh!” Miguel gagged. “Papá Héctor, we don’t have time for this!”

Héctor broke the kiss with a sigh, and pulled Imelda into a tight hug. He felt her skull pressed against his ribcage as she hugged him back. “Estaré bien, I promise. Besides, I have Pepita. She will put those ruffians in their place if they try anything.” She pulled back and squeezed his hands into hers. “Take care of Miguel for me.”

“I will, I promise.” The musician nodded. Then he noticed two familiar hands on his clavicles. “Oscar? Felipe? And the Adelitas, too...”

“Imelda will be fine. She’s got us, we won’t let anything happen to her.” Scardelita assured him, patting the sword attached to her belt. “We’re sorry to interrupt such a lovely moment, but…”

“There’s a problem.” Oscar continued, pointing the the jaguar alebrije. “How are we going to bring Pepita into the train? She’s HUGE. She won’t fit in those wagons.”

“Not to mention Chuy, Rayo and Fiero.” María petted the giant pig’s snout, while Manolo and Joaquín coaxed their bull and horse spirit guides to step forward. “They’re pretty big too.”

* * *

La Muerte was about to suggest a plan for the alebrijes, when Xochi stepped in.

“I can help with that.” The child god gave a look to his sister and Itchpo avoided his gaze. Did he actually look… sad? This confirmed La Muerte’s suspicions. “If we join two of the trains with magic, they will become bigger inside - enough to give Pepita and the others enough room to move within their own wagon. They’ll be warm and comfortable.”

The goddess smiled. Xochi was young for a god, but he was already showing signs of quick wit and resourcefulness. She walked up to him and touched his shoulder. “It’s an excellent idea, Xochi. The trains to the Land of the Forgotten and the Cursed follow the same path before the route splits in two, so connecting these trains will be the best solution.”

She clicked her fingers, and the Train of the Cursed retreated until it was in the center of the marigold railway turntable. The wheelhouse moved on its own, and two wagons from that train got magically attached to the Train of the Forgotten, following the gaze of the goddess. Once they were attached, La Muerte gave a quick wink to Xipeto.

“Mijo, if you don’t mind…?”

Xipeto smirked and walked to the train. “A big reshaping, incoming~!” he mumbled as he searched in his pockets and took out a rattle.

“Is that… a baby’s toy?” Miguel asked, arching one eyebrow in confusion.

“No es sólo un juguete. It’s more than meets the eye.” La Muerte whispered to him. “Mira.”

Xipeto hit the rattle with his hand, and the toy shapeshifted into a chicahuaztli. It was still a rattle, but now as big as a staff, with a bronze ball filled with seeds. The god of seasons lifted his weapon with both of his hands, muttering a spell. Then he spun the chicahuaztli around, creating a full circle, and the bronze ball began to release a pink glow.

“ **_Tlacuepaliztli!_ ** ” He exclaimed, eventually hitting one of the wagons with his staff. The rosy magic surrounded the train, finally exploding in a glittering cloud. The train became bigger! Xipeto stepped back and bowed to his audience. “Don’t thank me, just remember I am the best of the Directional Princes, and I appreciate every sacrifice done in my honor!” he declared and walked back to his mother.

“No sacrifices today!” La Muerte scolded him and slapped him lightly on the back of the head.  “You’re going to scare off my champion.”

“I am not scared… creo... ” Miguel said, blushing a little.

Xipeto leaned forward to get at Miguel’s height and pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, chamaco. Your heart is still inside your chest.  And you’re not even a war prisoner. You are too young and cute to die.”

“Gracias…?”

Clearly Miguel was a little overwhelmed. La Muerte lead Xipeto away from him, and to the mopey twins instead. She needed a moment with her children, but first she needed to give a last message to the two families.

“Todos, escúchenme… this is as far as I can go with you. I need to travel to the Land of the Unknown to make sure La Noche is alright…”

“You can come with us, mi Señora!” Julio beckoned her to join his group. “There’s always room for one more!”

La Muerte shook her head. “I’d only delay your search. You need to find Coco, and I must check on my sister.” She opened her arms. “It is time. Todos a bordo! Don’t worry for me!”

“Wait, and Pepita?” Imelda asked, caressing her alebrije’s head.

“I’ll help her to get aboard safely.” La Muerte gave her a nod.

Such words seemed to put her mind at ease: Imelda smiled and linked arms with her husband. Héctor took Miguel’s hand, and the three of them made their way to the Cursed-Forgotten train, followed by Manolo and the twin couples. At the same time, Julio, Rosita, Victoria, María and Joaquín boarded the train to the Land of the Unknown.

Distracted as he was, Miguel didn’t notice that Dante didn’t follow him this time. The alebrije dog stayed in a uncharacteristic silence next to Pepita, his ears up in alert.

La Muerte turned her attention to her children. Her smile faded, her shoulders sank. Finally she could stop her façade. To be honest with herself, she was utterly exhausted.

Xipeto frowned at such sight. “Did something happen to Tía Noche while I was doing my job in the Living World? The weather has been crazy since I got back.”

“It isn’t your fault, mijo.” La Muerte gave him a weak smile. “Luna wouldn’t unleash such nightmare weather on us on purpose. If anything, it’s highly likely Sartana is already in the Land of the Unknown doing The Great Powers know what. That’s why I want you to go with Julio and the others. You’re the only one who can help them… at least until I can get Tezca and Huitzi to answer…”

“I’ll do it. You can count on me, madre.” Xipeto gave her a hug, before he ran off to take the blue train. The blue locomotive released a puff of white smoke, followed by a whistle, as it headed to the unknown.

“What about us, Mamá?” Itchpo asked, closing the distance to her mother.

La Muerte turned to her. She pulled both of her children in a gentle embrace, mindful of the alebrijes in her daughter's arms. Then she got on one knee, squeezed Xochi’s shoulder and cupped Itchpo’s cheek. “Xochi, Itchpo, I know this is a lot to ask from you, especially when you two have been sheltered all your life. But there’s no one else I can count with. I need you two to go with the Riveras and ensure Miguel comes back home. I’m afraid I am… no longer able to keep my time spell up...”

Itchpo flinched, horror draining all color from her face. “Do you mean…?”

“Sí. I’m so sorry, mi niña.” The sugar goddess pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Take Ernesto’s alebrijes to the last wagon. You know what to do. Take care, alright?”

“Sí. Love you, Mamá.” Itchpo nodded and got into the train, leaving Xochi alone with their mother and the alebrijes of the Rivera family. La Muerte could sense guilt in Xochi’s soul, it was written all over his face too.

“Mamá…” he started, only to find her finger land on his lips, silencing him.

“Whatever it is, Xochi… I’m sure Itchpo will forgive you. You two came to the world at the same time, you’re day and night, heaven and earth. One cannot exist without the other. And in time, she will learn that truth too.” La Muerte whispered, removing her finger.

“I think she’s… uh… having feelings... for that human boy.” La Muerte could tell he was holding back, but it was useless. Xochi was an open book, both of them knew.

“We cannot change whatever is written in the Book of Life, Xochi. But we can learn from our mistakes.” She cupped both sides of his face. “I wasn’t there for Sartana when she fell in love for that man. But you can be there for Itchpo now. Whatever happens - I’ll be always there with you.”

“¿En mi corazón?” He asked, bringing a hand to his chest.

“Sí, in your heart.” She caressed the heart-shaped soul markings of his cheeks, and Xochi leaned into her touch. No matter how surly or boastful he could get with strangers, the god of love would always be her little child. No more words were needed. They hugged each other, and she squeezed him a little tighter when she heard a sob escaping him. “Xochi?”

“I’m not crying.” He answered quickly, in a tone that revealed that yes, he was pretty much in the verge of tears. “I’m… I’m just… Tengo miedo, mamá…”

“I’m scared too.” La Muerte caressed his hair, then kissed it. “But I know you’re brave. I know I can trust you to protect Itchpo and the Riveras. Will you do that for me?”

“Mmmh-mhhh.” She felt him nodding, his nose brushing against her shoulder. Then he pulled back, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll do my best, I promise.” He turned to the alebrijes and let out a whistle. “Come on, guys.”

La Muerte watched Xochi guide Dante and the other alebrijes to their wagon. Now it was just her and Pepita. She let out a sigh.

“I know you hate changing forms… But I think the other alebrije guardians won’t ask you anything if you show up in your human form. They’ll travel using those forms too.”

Pepita let out a irked growl, and La Muerte floated to her front. The goddess gently touched her snout. “Por favor… Don’t do it for me. Do it for Imelda.”

Pepita pressed her body to the ground and let out a defeated noise. La Muerte smiled, glad to see the great alebrije couldn’t argue that logic. “Gracias, Justice Jaguar.”

She kissed the big cat gently, and the glow of a thousand marigold petals surrounded Pepita, leaving in her place a skeleton man dressed in black. He was tall, with beautiful white hair and an orange-ish glow surrounding all his body. You could tell he was muscular once, by the size of his ribcage. But the most striking of his features were the ebony mask that covered his face, the richly decorated golden charro hat on top of his head and the spirit copy of the Golden Boots of Truth on his feet.

The man turned to her. “Please, you know I don’t go by that name anymore. I’m not worthy of it. If anything… you can use my other dead name. That one is still of use to me.”

“Of course... Simón Rivera.” She smiled. “Do you want any help to get to the wagon?”

“I’ll just walk myself there. Gotta catch up and meet other alebrije guardians while I can.” Simón answered, and bowed to her. “Gracias por todo.”

“It’s alright, Simón. We’re kind of family after all.” La Muerte smiled weakly, all too aware the alebrije man knew exactly what she was talking about. In the end, everything came back to Sartana.

The ex-hero nodded and ran aboard, jumping in just in time. The locomotive released a loud whistle, and the last train parted to their destinations.

La Muerte turned around, clenching her fists. She helped the Riveras as much as she could. Now she had to find her sister… and fast!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xipeto is based in the Aztec deity Xipe Totec, who was a life-death-rebirth deity, god of agriculture, vegetation, the east, disease, spring, goldsmiths, silversmiths, liberation and the seasons. The famous human sacrifices of the Aztecs were made to honor him. His personality was created with some help of my friend Alannah (thank you dear!).   
> More information about this god over here! ---> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xipe_Totec
> 
> Also - bet you didn't expect that from Pepita, uh? Truth is, I've been thinking about it since the very moment I saw Simón on screen. Here, have some comparison:  
> Simón ->https://78.media.tumblr.com/d42bac7ad38f4bf47ce76e0c5b5c2606/tumblr_ozzebmtXVH1vnr9pgo2_400.png  
> Pepita -> https://78.media.tumblr.com/4a771f04dea8eb4ca2b5573757627238/tumblr_p6h0e8AULR1ulga4po1_540.jpg  
> The similarities are there. Plus "Justice Jaguar"... Let's say it was the "right kind of obvious" xDDD
> 
> Our heroes are on their way to the Cave of Souls, and La Muerte is resolved to find out what happened to La Noche. In the longest of nights, somewhere deep in the Forest of Lost, Ernesto tries to save Sartana. And our dear Coco is about to discover that not everyone who wanders is lost. Stay tuned for more!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Nunca - Never  
> (muchas) Gracias - Thank you (so much)  
> Vamos - Come on  
> hermanita - little sister  
> mi Señora - my lady  
> Síganme - Follow me  
> mi amigo - my friend  
> Hola, madre! - Hi, mother!  
> querido - dear  
> Vade retro, Satanás! - Latin for "Go away/Step back, Satan!"  
> mijo - my son  
> Sí - Yes  
> renacuajo - tadpole, here used to poke fun  
> Nos vemos pronto - See you soon  
> Es una posibilidad - It's a possibility  
> No es sólo un juguete - It isn't just a toy  
> Mira - Look  
> chicahuaztli - It's a staff-sized rattle, one of Xipeto's weapons.  
> "Tlacuepaliztli!" - Nahuatl for "Change!"  
> creo... - I believe...  
> chamaco - child/kid  
> Todos, escúchenme - Everyone, listen to me  
> Todos a bordo! - All aboard!  
> madre - mother  
> ¿En mi corazón? - In my heart?  
> Tengo miedo - I'm scared  
> Por favor - please  
> “Gracias por todo.” - "Thank you for everything"


	20. Simul in sempiternum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

“I still can't believe Sartana just ran away like that. She's been out of Miracle City for a year?” Frida asked, saving her silvery glove in her bag. “It explains the lack of paranormal activity.”

“Yes.” Django nodded, lifting the letter once again. He still couldn't believe his grandma had left them so suddenly. “The date was written on November 1st, right before Día de Muertos.”

“Took you long enough to realize she was gone.” Manny nudged him, smirking.

“I was on a road trip with my parents! How would I know?” The skeleton boy protested. He didn't want to take the blame. Though, if he was honest with himself, maybe he could have avoided this situation. If only he knew how to read the signs…

“Speak of the devil…” Manny pointed to the cyborg skeleton outside. “Django, isn't that your father?”

A lot of people would find his metallic jaw, his four arms and his robotic peg leg terrifying, but for Django, there was no man more loving than him. If anything - his skull-themed Triumph Rocket III Roadster screamed badassery.

“Machete of the Dead…” Frida gasped. “He’s coming with us?”

Machete tipped his cowboy hat upwards with a bony finger. He gave Frida a nod as response. His gaze softened when his eyes landed on Django, then he raised one of his spare arms and beckoned them to come closer.

“Is he telling us to get on his motorcycle?” Manny asked. There was barely room for the four of them… unless they broke a few safety rules. There was plenty of that in his record, Django knew it well.

“Close. Get in losers, we’re going on a highway to Hell”, Django chuckled. He pushed the young couple toward the bike and climbed on it first, sitting right after his father. Manny sat after him and Frida was the last, standing on her feet to get a better view of the path ahead. Django tugged at his father's sleeve. “Dad, where's Mom?”

“Safe. At home.” The man answered, clicking the fingers of his right arm. Three skull-themed helmets appeared out of thin air and landed on Django's, Manny's and Frida’s heads.

“Wow, gracias!” By her tone, Django could tell Frida loved hers. “A nice gesture for a villain.”

Machete sneered and started the engine. Manny shook his head with a weak smile. “He’s a man of few words, uh?”

Django adjusted his red scarf with a proud smirk. “That's my dad.”

* * *

Sartana could barely stay awake. Her claws clung onto Ernesto’s tattered jacket without thinking. She could feel his strong arms holding her and her broken guitar close. So warm and comforting, especially when every bone in her body ached like never before. ‘Dying’ in the living world was one thing, but the physical pain of a broken soul was completely different. She wasn’t sure what was worse. She winced as another flash ran over her bones.

“Ernesto…” 

He looked down and their eyes met once again. Those brown eyes, so warm, so kind. “I’m here, Sartana. You’ll be alright.” He looked up again and frowned. “The mist is growing thicker. Mmh…” He looked back to her. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright.”

The goddess sighed and closed her eyes, feeling another flash of energy shake her skeleton. “My… spellbook...” She managed to whisper.

“A spellbook? What do you mean?”

“In… my… hat…”

* * *

“Sartana? Sartana!” Ernesto called out for her, but there was no use. She was losing consciousness and he had nothing to help her with. What was she saying about a spellbook? He couldn’t stop to think.

“Things can't get much worse than this, can they…”

Ernesto saw lightning cross the sky, soon followed by rain red and thick as blood.

“...Apparently yes, they can.”

They needed shelter, and fast! He kept running, until he stumbled over the roots of a giant tree placed next to a lagoon. A giant tree... that was hollow inside! It was not a cave, and definitely not a place he’d choose under different circumstances - but at this moment, he’d take anything as long as it kept them safe from the rain.

He got on his knees, placing Sartana inside first, completely outstretched; then he crawled in after her. Good thing that this was a redwood tree! With a ceiling over their heads he could pay attention to other problems, like Sartana’s cracks. They were glowing, giving her seizures every few seconds. She was getting worse!

“Sartana…” Ernesto reached to caress her cheek in an attempt to comfort her. Another flash shook her body, and he flinched. He slowly retracted his hand. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ll think of something. I won’t let you go. I promise.”

“Ernesto…”

The first thing he should fix would be her broken bones. Coco had done a number on her, smashing her guitar like that. Clearly her body didn’t work like a regular skeleton in the Land of the Dead. Gods didn’t rely on memory, as no one remembered or believed in them - not until death, that is. Would she heal if he believed in her? He held her hand and squeezed it gently. “I believe in you. Can you feel it?”

She smiled and mouthed a weak ‘I do’ before closing her eyes, but nothing changed. Her breathing kept growing more hoarse with every flash that shook her entire being. Ernesto brought his hands to his temples, trying to focus. Didn’t she mention something about a spellbook in her hat?

Even if he knew next to nothing about magic, it was worth a try. He took her hat and inspected it. The ribbon around it called his attention: black, with white stars? It was suspiciously familiar, but there was no time to dwell on the reasons why. He turned the hat around, and noticed a weight pulling at the center - a secret pocket!

Ernesto began to fumble into it, until his fingers ran into something thick and firm. “Aha!” He took it out and rushed back to his partner. “Sartana, I found it!”, he exclaimed, gently shaking her shoulder to show her. It was a black notebook, with skull and guitar stickers on the cover.

The goddess winced, as she struggled to straighten herself. “Good, now… I need the Moon Staff… Where is it?”

This was Ernesto’s turn to twitch. “Uh… You were carrying it last time I saw it…?”

* * *

Now she remembered. She left the Moon Staff back at the camp! Her eyes grew wide. “Oh no… No… No, no… Aaah...” Her arms failed her, and she would have fallen on the ground if Ernesto hadn’t caught her in his arms.

“Hey, con cuidado… Cuidado…” He whispered, helping her to lean against him. “Don’t faint on me now. I got your spellbook, see? There’s something we can use… right… right?!”

Sartana gasped and shuddered as another flash ran over her body. With each new flash, the pain of her cracks seemed to stretch further into her core. She didn’t want to die! Not like this! She hadn’t fulfilled her promise yet. And she didn’t want leave Ernesto alone.

Her survival instincts kicked in. Her claws entwined with his thin fingers.

“ **_Vínculo de almas…_ ** ” The goddess whimpered, unable to think properly.

“Got it.” Her sight was turning blurry, but she still felt how Ernesto put her hand down for just a moment. Right next, she heard him flip through the pages. “Vínculo de almas, vínculo de almas... Come on, where is it… AHA!!!” His victorious cry was followed by the noise of her book hitting the floor.

Her body was shutting down. Her legs already felt numb, and the rest of her body was following the same path. Fear took a tight grip on her heart. Her claws clung onto his jacket, and very soon, Ernesto’s hands covered hers.

“I’ve never done magic, but… Que sea lo que Dios quiera.”

His hand squeezed hers, and his next words echoed an ancient spell. Words from another time, another world - the mysterious ‘Heaven’ her father had come from.

_"Magna potestates caelorum et terrae, exaudi orationem meam…!”_

Her body started to tremble and writhe, as the radiance around her flooded the enclosed shelter they were in. Her eyes opened, exuding light and her arms went up, forming a cross with her body. She was floating in the air!

_“Quod non sint solum duo corda,_

_tantum animam esse immortalem…!”_

Sartana cried out in agony. She closed her eyes, wincing until she felt a familiar arm around her waist, restraining her as thin fingers entwined with her claws… _Ernesto!_

_“Nam anima vestra, pro mea anima,”_

Through the pain, Sartana managed to look down. He was hugging her, and her claws interlaced with his.

_“...simul... in sempiternum…!!”_

The light surrounded both of them; the last thing she felt was the warmth of two hearts beating as one. As her body fell to the ground, everything faded to black.

* * *

Ernesto woke up with a groan. His skull ached like never before, and everything seemed to spin as he sat up. He leaned against the trunk, stealing a glance toward Sartana. It seemed that spell only made the flashing lights disappear - the cracks were still there. Why did he feel so sore?

This mumbo-jumbo wasn’t really his thing. The spell probably hadn’t worked; Sartana was still unconscious. Sighing in frustration, Ernesto emptied the content of his pockets: a knife, guitar strings, some of his _Wanted_ posters and the end of a dusty bandage roll.

He turned to look at Sartana, then her guitar. Perhaps she’d be able to heal if he fixed her guitar first? Her soul was connected to the instrument, she had pretty much told him herself. But how to fix it? What could he use? Maybe… parts of this same tree?

After measuring the height of the cracks with his fingers, Ernesto gripped the knife tight and started to cut pieces of wood. Too big, too small, too thin. An absolute fiasco - he just didn’t have enough strength to push the knife deep enough without risking breaking it too. After a few minutes of struggle, Ernesto punched the trunk in frustration. This damn tree just wouldn’t give him what he wanted! Just like… like Héctor. _Héctor._

The thought of him made him turn his eyes back to the knife. This… this was like Héctor’s murder all over again. He was trying to take something from someone who had given him nothing but care and shelter. And what was his response? Poison, a stab with a knife, they weren’t that different then and now. Except that now, he wasn’t doing it for himself. He wanted to save Sartana, but not at the cost of another life. Even if it was just a tree, it would leave a hole in the forest if it died - just like Héctor had left a hole in his family… and his own life, too.

Years of bottling up the regret opened a door Ernesto had believed closed forever. He felt something wet slipping through the cracks of his skull. Tears? No, he couldn’t cry. He wiped them before they became too obvious. He was too macho for this. He was the great Ernesto de la Cruz! A legend! An icon! And... a murderer. Taking one life in exchange for fame didn’t seem so bad when he was too busy to think of collateral damage, but now… Now he knew what it meant.

Coco’s angry face flashed through his mind.

_“I still remember when you bickered with my papá when I was little!_

_The way you carried me in your arms!_

**_Where’s that man now?!_ ** _”_

“...That man is still here, Coco”, he whispered, removing the knife from the trunk.

The thought of losing Sartana made his nonexistent stomach churn. He sighed and stared at himself. His mariachi suit hand been once white, pristine and elegant. Now it was ripped and full of stains. The beautiful lie and the ugly truth. A truth that Sartana seemed to accept nonetheless. Ernesto gazed at her and chuckled weakly. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sartana… I don’t have anything better than this.”

He closed his eyes, then opened one to follow his movements. The knife easily pierced the fabric of his jacket and his sleeves fell to the ground. He knew from experience vests looked weird on him, but fabric was easier to manipulate than wood. The musician cut one of the pieces of fabric in a long, thin rectangle that matched the bulk of the guitar. The moment he applied it to the instrument, he heard Sartana mumbling.

“...Jorge… Please...”  

A nightmare? Ernesto placed the guitar carefully aside to check on her. Her face showed a sorrowful expression. It seemed fixing the guitar was helping - her bones seemed to be in better shape, broken ends already reaching for each other. By the way she had fallen back at the camp, he suspected one of her legs was broken. Plus he could see some fractures on her arms and another on her ribcage, pretty much where her heart would be. Where her chest would be…

Realizing his mind was drifting to sinful thoughts, Ernesto slapped his cheeks by reflex and winced under the pain he felt on the cracked one. He sat by her side, giving her a smug grin. “Whoever that Jorge is, you just wait. Once all of this is over, I’m going to hunt him down and drop his sorry ass in a cenote. That’ll teach him not to mess with us...”

_Us.                       Uhhh…                   Wait a minute..._

Ernesto’s soul markings emitted a soft pink glow. When did he start thinking in plural? And _why..._? This was so much unlike him!

He reached for the instrument and placed it on his lap, in a effort to occupy his mind. Holding up one end of the bandage with his mouth, he uncoiled the bandage roll and began to roll it around every crack… yet his eyes kept revisiting the view of the dormant goddess lying by his side. A beautiful angel with crooked teeth and powers larger than life, yet so vulnerable. So imperfect. Just like him. But she couldn’t be _that woman_ , right? To decide his future on a gut feeling was a bad idea. Even so...

_“Let’s say that I’ve been watching over you... for a long time.”_

That was a clue. If she knew the things he had gone through, there was a possibility. What if their life together had started much sooner than this? What if…?

* * *

 

 _Someone was knocking on the bell. After weeks being the focus of most insults and pranks, getting attention was something he feared. The darkness was his only good company now._ _“Vete…” He grumbled, hiding his face on his knees._

_“Ernesto de la Cruz?” A voice. It sounded like a woman… but none he knew?_

_“Just go away.” He raised his head, he still could see a shadow outside. Why was she still there?! “Leave me alone!” He punched the thick surface._

_He heard a light noise of fabric. Did that woman just… sit there? “No, I’m not leaving.”_

_“Fine! Be like that! Ríete si quieres!” He hissed, turning his back to the voice._

_“Why should I?” Her voice sounded… quizzical, but earnest._

_His fingers gripped onto handfuls of fabric of his pants. “That’s pretty much what everyone else does. Why should I expect you to do anything different?!”_

_“Mmh. You don't need to. But I brought you something…” she said quietly, sliding a small object through one of the cracks in the bell._

_In the darkness, Ernesto couldn’t see a thing._ _“Qué…? What’s this…?” He picked it up, feeling it with his hands. It was soft. A little warm._

_“Bandages. I heard what happened to you after my arrival. Are you OK?” She asked, concern showing in her tone._

_Obnoxious woman. Odd woman. What was she doing, bringing him bandages? Did she miss the part where he had been crushed in pure irony? That was what this was, wasn't it... Ironic._

 

* * *

“Were you… that woman?” Only silence was her response. Ernesto shook his head, of course she was still unconscious. “Aguanta un poco más. Don’t you dare die on me, me oyes? I’ll get mad at you if you disappear after everything we’ve gone through.”

He looked outside. The rain painted the white snow coat that surrounded the tree red. There was thunder in the distance - but they should be safe here. If only his chihuahua alebrijes were here... Maybe they could help him to find more materials to work with. He didn't know if his effort would pay off, but he had to try. For her.

* * *

“Sartana! Ernesto! Por favor, answer me!!”

The Forest of the Lost, with its large trees and withered marigold bushes, was scary enough for Coco before blood poured from the thick clouds above. She never liked being alone - otherwise, she would have walked from her home the moment her mother created the music ban. But now… now she was alone, and had no luck yet on her mission: to find a tree with enough leaves left to shield her from the crimson rain.

“I shouldn’t have smashed that guitar… Lo siento!”

She could see several alebrijes in the forest: giant winged deer, some fluffy finches and scaly herons, frobbits, even a coyote with a majestic mane. But none of them seemed willing to help… Except a verdant hawk with a lizard tail. That one refused to go away when she tried to shoo it - in fact, the green bird kept calling out to her, as if it had seen something important. Didn’t Rosita say that alebrijes were supposed to guide souls on their journey?

She walked toward the spot the hawk kept circling, but she couldn’t see anything. Coco was about to give up when she recognized something under a tree… the dying embers of the fire Ernesto had created earlier. _The camp!_ This would do until she found something better. It was then when her feet knocked a long, thin and very ornamented stick on the floor. Wasn't Sartana carrying this since their escape from the Land of the Unknown?

“Isn’t this… the Moon Staff?” Coco knelt to pick it up. Before she could touch it the voice of a young man stopped her.

“I wouldn't touch it if I was you.”

If she didn't know any better, she'd mistake him for her great-grandson Abel. Coco retracted her fingers and got up, taking off one of her sandals while she was at it. _Time to be strong. Time to be ‘la luchadora Coco’_.

“Who’s there?! Show yourself!”

She heard a low rumble over her head. Whoever they were - this guy moved quickly through the trees, in a very monkey-like fashion.

_“Hmmm, hmmmm, ...coming to the tree...”_

That guy was… humming? Singing? Coco felt unnerved and dropped her shoe. She grabbed a nearby branch for protection. Just because she loved her Papá and their song, it didn't mean she trusted easily anyone with a nice voice. Especially when she couldn't make out his shape that flew through the shadows. She could still hear his voice, though.

_“Strange things did happen here...”_

Suddenly, the creature leapt in front of her. Fearing it was a talking animal, Coco swung her branch - but the improvised mace hit nothing. Where was he? The elder Rivera realized only then that an apple-skinned teen boy was looking at her, the tips of his feet resting gracefully over her weapon of choice. His mouth and chin were covered by a plastic mask with colourful patterns that reminded her of an Aztec mask. There were green spores (freckles?) on his cheeks and round glasses framed his verdant eyes.

“I can’t remember the rest… Do you?”

Coco gasped and dropped the branch. To her surprise, the boy kept floating where he was, as if gravity ignored his existence. Now that she could see him better, she noticed him wearing a white lab coat full of stains. There were even mushrooms and moss growing on his shoulder pads and sleeves! And his sandals seemed pretty worn out. How long had he been here? He didn’t look much older than the average university student. “Who are you…?”

“The question, my dear, is more if you remember who you are.” The boy picked up the staff and examined it. “Because clearly you’re a god, and I’m not.”

“Excuse me?” Coco raised a brow ridge in confusion. “I’m not… Wait. Are you a deity?”

“I might be? I could be a champiñón, too.  Mi nombre es Zacapi, by the way.” Still holding the staff with one hand, the boy picked up one of the mushrooms growing on one of his sleeves. He pulled down his mask and began to eat the fungi. “You know what…? Mushrooms are tasty and fascinating. They thrive on the rotten wood, the decay of the forest... Their lives aren’t long, but without them, illness and disease would kill it all.” He turned to Coco, a smile on his face. “You’re lost, aren’t you? You are definitely not a plant, nor an alebrije. You’re…” He frowned a little. “You’re human. You shouldn’t be here...”

“I’m Socorro Rivera, from the Rivera shoemaker family.” The older woman tried to explain herself. “I was kidnapped, but I managed to get away and now I’m trying to...”

“Shhh, shh! No spoilers!” The deity wrapped an arm around her shoulders and looked up to the front. What was he staring at in the distance? “We... don’t want anyone to spoil details of what has been... what is… or what will be, right guys?”

Coco couldn’t understand. She didn’t see anyone, and his smell reeked of drugs. Probably he was just having hallucinations if he was high - and in that state, he couldn’t help her. But… maybe her alebrije friend could. The hawk-lizard began to circle around them again and released a hoarse, rasping scream.

“Your alebrije is worried. Something is coming.” Zacapi whispered. He straightened and took Coco’s hand in his. “You should listen to her. Alebrijes know best.”

“But… it’s raining blood! Just look how _red_ it is. We can’t move!”

“Meh. Chingaderas.” He shrugged. “Let’s see what she found.”

* * *

The shattered section of the guitar was covered with the fabric of his sleeves and wrapped in bandages. It wasn’t exactly pretty… but now the instrument should be able to hold up until they reached the next land. Ernesto put the guitar carefully aside and looked at Sartana. He had run out of gauze in his effort to save her guitar; but her bones still needed some help. He had some pieces of duct tape... the ones he used to hold his broken bones in place.

The musician reached for his cracked cheek, touching it lightly. If the memory of him was strong enough to keep those chunks together, chances were the rest of his bones would be capable of doing the same. Even if sacrificing his tape meant a lot of pain for him.

“I hope you appreciate the crap I’m going through for you. I wouldn’t do this shit for anyone, you know?” He grumbled in her direction, before his eyes landed on a piece of duct tape on his body that was easy to remove. Perhaps the strip holding his radius and ulna together?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and ripped it off in one movement. “AAAAHHH!!!!” A loud scream escaped his mouth, as he winced in pain.

“Ah!” She whimpered in her sleep. Ernesto froze and looked at her. What a coincidence...

He turned his attention back to his body. Luckily that pull hadn’t damaged the bone further beyond the crack that was already there. Very soon, the duct tape covered Sartana’s broken ulna. His eyes went wide when he saw the uncovered ends of the crack release a soft glow and disappear.

Encouraged by that small victory, Ernesto took another two pieces from his body: one from his tibia and another from his vertebral column. Each rip was followed by a cry that pierced the silence of the forest, and a feeble wail from the convalescent lady in black and red. Even in pain, his suffering couldn’t compare to Sartana’s, right? The mariachi only needed a moment to catch his breath and study his next target. He gulped when he realized the last spots left were very delicate areas: one in her legs and the other on her ribcage.

Sartana and him weren’t _that_ close, he couldn’t touch her like that... _Yet_ , a little voice whispered in his mind. He bit his bottom lip. If he didn’t do anything, she’d be in pain. He couldn’t afford himself to watch and do nothing!

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispered, lifting her skirt. Long, delicate legs came into view. Bones white as snow, and a nasty crack on her femur. His soul markings turned pink as he placed the damaged limb on his lap. After wrapping the duct tape around her femur Ernesto put her leg down and covered it. Then he stared to the challenging fracture resting on her ribs. Out of all places, it had to be there...

“I swear… I can be many things, but I’m not one to take advantage of a woman against her will.” He whispered, as he helped Sartana to sit on his lap. When they were like this, she seemed so frail. Like she would turn into dust anytime now. But she wouldn’t fade, would she? _Gods live forever. She’s gonna be alright. We will be._

Ernesto hugged her close, avoiding her face, and took a deep breath. He fumbled on her back until he found a zipper. Ernesto gulped and froze for a few seconds. He knew how zippers worked, he had undressed way too many people to count. Even so, now…

“Sartana… I can’t do this.” He whispered in her hair. “I need your consent. Otherwise it would be… even if I mean well, still… ugh…”

“Mmmh…” A soft noise escaped her. Right next, Sartana snuggled against him, and Ernesto felt his ribcage swell in joy. How could she be this adorable? He let out a light sigh and nuzzled her hair.

“I’ll take care of you, I promise. Don’t worry”, he whispered, sliding down the zipper.

The upper part of her dress fell down, leaving her body exposed. His eyes bulged when he noticed two burned stumps on her back. Weren’t those taking the same placement for the birth of her wings? What had happened to her…?

Ernesto shook his head - sure there was an explanation, but he didn’t have time to ponder over it. He studied the front section of her ribcage. There it was- two broken ribs. His last piece of duct tape was big enough to cover both of them, so he sliced the piece in half. His fingers picked up the broken bits and joined them to each rib, mindful of matching them.

As he worked, Ernesto noticed her soul markings glowed pink; and that light was followed by some sounds that he suspected to be moans. It wouldn’t be that weird - he knew ribs were an important part of intimacy in the Land of the Dead. He didn’t mean to touch her inappropriately, this was the only way to help her... Yet...

Ernesto struggled with himself. One part of him wished to kiss her neck, her collarbone, her spine - anything to let her know how much he wanted her. On the other hand - he knew he couldn’t do that to Sartana. He wanted her consent, he longed for her approval, he couldn’t do a thing without her smile… He loved her too much.

_Wait a second…        Love?_

The musician’s eyes went wide. He was thinking about **love**. Him, of all people! And not just lust, he knew plenty about that. What was filling his senses was Love, the pure, genuine kind. A feeling that made him smile like a fool when he admired her face in her sleep. The very same that rattled his bones, shaken by the quietest laughter. He placed her carefully on the ground, then took off his torn vest and covered her with it. **Love.** After all these years.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you. It’s the least I can do.” He whispered, lying down to rest by her side. “After all… You stayed with me all those nights, didn’t you?”

* * *

 

_“Why do you keep coming back? I have nothing to give you.”_

_His voice sounded sad rather than bitter. After a month talking through the walls of the bell, Sartana had grown attached to these visits. It wasn’t only because Ernesto used to be her idol. There was a broken man behind the man she used to admire. Somehow… knowing he had done despicable things, just like she did, made him a whole lot more engaging._

_“It’s Nochebuena, and tomorrow is Navidad. I couldn’t leave you on your own tonight, so no more complaining! I’ll stay with you.” She answered, sitting outside the bell like every night._

_His silence unnerved her. It wasn’t common that he went quiet - until she heard a shift within the bell. Ernesto had changed his position and it seemed he sat closer to her, due to the proximity of the voice. “You’re really something. I don’t understand. I’m a murderer, the butt of every joke in the Land of the Dead. Why do you keep visiting me?”_

_She sighed. Sartana didn’t want to think of the past, but perhaps… some bits of truth would put his heart at ease. “Because you… and your music… they helped me through a very rough patch in my life. When the world turned against me your music was still on the radio. A melody that made me feel like I shouldn’t give up. That I had to seize my moment.”_

_“A fangirl, through and through!” He laughed. The soul markings on her cheekbones went red. “I’m glad my music helped you… even if those songs weren’t mine.”_

_Sartana shook her head. “The most beautiful jewel is worthless if it stays stuck in a cave forever. Sí, you did horrible things that can’t be forgiven. But what about the gift you gave to the world playing those songs? Think all the Quinceañera parties that were celebrated with your music playing in the background! Think of every lover who serenaded their significant other singing “Much Needed Advice”. Think…” Her voice grew quieter, as she leaned against the surface of the bell. “Think of a lonely woman who listened to “Remember Me” and felt like you were her only friend.”_

_Her eyes went wide when she saw him sticking out his hand through the hole in the bell. She reached tentatively for it, and he carefully interlaced their fingers._

_“I’m… I’m not sure what to say, except… gracias. Gracias por recordarme I’m not a monster.” He whispered, his voice shy. “Won’t you tell me your name? I’m a little tired of this guessing game. You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are… Isn’t this a little unfair?”_

_“It’s a good thing you don’t know.” She whispered, before she opened her bag. “Also… I brought you something special.” Four chihuahuas fell from it and started to bark at her. Clearly they hadn’t enjoyed the trip, but her bag was the best way to transport them without doing magic that gave her presence away. She heard him move inside the bell._

_“I can’t believe it! Pablo! Anita! Cheque! Lucinda! You found my alebrijes!” He sounded happier than ever, especially when she helped the little dogs to go inside the bell. “Gracias! Gracias a miles! How did you do it?!”_

_“It wasn’t an easy feat, that’s for sure.” Sartana smiled. His joy made her struggles to rescue the dogs worthwhile. “Feliz Navidad, Ernesto.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! Academy was murdering me! But now HDDG is back! This is the first part of the June special. You're going to get two chapters this month. Yes, you read well - TWO CHAPTERS! So stay turned for the next!
> 
> Pablo the chihuahua is an idea by JadeDaUnicorn; Cheque is a nod to Karadoc's OC, and Doña Lucinda belongs to im-fairly-witty. Anita is mine :)
> 
> Here's a reference so you know what Machete looks like: https://screenshoteltigre.tumblr.com/post/172661806317/django-of-the-dead-el-machete-son-of-sartana
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Día de Muertos - Day of the Dead  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> con cuidado - careful  
> vínculo de almas - bond of souls, soul link  
> "Que sea lo que Dios quiera" - This expression means "Here goes nothing"  
> papá - dad  
> "Vete" - Go away  
> "Ríete si quieres!” - "Laugh if you want!"  
> Qué? - What?  
> "Aguanta un poco más" - "Hold on a little more"  
> Por favor - Please  
> "Lo siento!” - "I'm sorry!"  
> la luchadora - the fighter/boxer. This is a reference to Miguel and Coco's playtime in the movie, where we can see Miguel is a big fan of lucha libre events. Coco embraces the title Miguel gave her.  
> champiñón - mushroom/champignon  
> "Chingaderas" - "Shit happens"  
> Nochebuena - Christmas Eve  
> Navidad - Christmas  
> Sí - Yes  
> Quinceañera - A special birthday party given to girls when they become 15 years old, which is when they begin to be seen as women, no longer children.  
> Feliz Navidad - Merry Christmas
> 
> The spell was written in Latin as a reference to Xibalba, who was an angel from Heaven (Gutiérrez revealed it on his Twitter). If you're curious about the spell, I have English and Spanish versions!
> 
> (Latin)  
> Magna potestates caelorum et terrae, exaudi orationem meam  
> Quod non sint solum duo corda,  
> tantum animam esse immortalem.  
> Nam anima vestra, pro mea anima,  
> simul in sempiternum.
> 
> (English)  
> Great Powers of heaven and earth, hear my prayer.  
> May they no longer be two hearts in solitude,  
> only one immortal soul.  
> My soul for yours, your soul for mine,  
> together forever.
> 
> (Spanish)  
> Grandes Poderes del cielo y la tierra, oíd mi ruego.  
> Que ya no sean dos corazones en soledad,  
> sólo un alma inmortal.  
> Mi alma por la tuya, tu alma por la mía,  
> juntos por siempre.


	21. Rewrite The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

The hawk alebrije released a loud cry and attacked the enemy hidden in the bushes.

Coco couldn’t believe her alebrije friend would get this vicious against… a winged chihuahua.

“No! Bad bird!” She stepped in and shooed the bird away before she could get a chance to examine the dog. It was indeed an alebrije, with soft green fur full of nasty bites and tired eyes. “Are you alright, little one?”

Zacapi pushed his hair back before he knelt by her side. “Hola, doña Anita.” He caressed the alebrije’s head, then applied his hands over the dog’s side. A green glow came from them. He smiled to Coco. “She’s a woman, you know? You better treat her with respect.”

“A woman? You mean, a female?” That was some strange wording. Coco pursed her lips.

“Yes. Anita Perón. Now I think of it... I shouldn’t have told you, Coco. Not that will change things on the long run anyway. Oh well.” Zacapi shrugged and raised his hands. The alebrije slowly opened its eyes and got up. Her wounds were gone. The deity smiled. “Do you feel better, doña? I just healed you…”

Anita jumped into his arms and licked his face. Zacapi dropped the staff and fell on his butt, laughing. “Hahahaha! Alrighty, I get it! De nada, hahahaha!”

The alebrije stopped and looked up, as if she had heard some sound that escaped her sense of hearing, her ears up in alert. But that pup’s behavior change wasn’t what surprised Coco; it was what Anita did next: she jumped to the ground, grabbed the Moon Staff - and ran away!

“Aahhh! Come back with that staff, perra pendeja!” Coco tried to run after Doña Anita, but Zacapi touched her shoulder to stop her. “Suéltame! You didn’t let me touch the staff, why can she?”

“Because alebrijes follow rules than are far greater than ourselves, Coco.” Zacapi made a pipe out of thin air and blew it. Some pink bubbles came out. “If that alebrije thinks the staff must be somewhere else right now, we gotta respect that.”

The hawk alebrije landed on Coco’s shoulder and nodded to his words. The older woman sighed and looked up to the young deity. “I have my doubts… but that doesn’t matter. I need to find mi familia.”

Zacapi smiled from ear to ear. "Maybe I can help you!" 

* * *

 

Sartana slowly opened her eyes. She shivered - her body definitely had taken a lot of damage. But there was something white and warm over her. A white vest? She rubbed her eyes and looked down… only to see the upper side of her dress was on her waist. She gasped and tried to cover her ribcage with the vest again.

“Ernesto…?” Her breathing quickened when she realised he was sleeping by her side. “Ernesto, despierta! Why am I...?”

The musician let out a low groan. He rubbed his eyes. The moment he glanced at her, a wide grin filled his face. “Sartana, finally! You’re awake! How do you feel?”

“Why am I half-naked?!” She pressed, her soul markings turning bright red.

His markings echoed the same color. He sat up and looked away. “S-sorry! Your ribs were broken. I had to duct tape them, some of your bones too!”

An awkward silence stretched between them. Sartana sat up, studying the duct tape on her ribs. Wasn’t it… the same she had seen on his body? The duct tape on his bones was gone. The goddess covered her mouth as realization hit her: Ernesto had sacrificed his duct tape (and being able to walk without pain) for her.

But there was something more: her spellbook was on the ground, opened on the page with the soul link spell. Her eyes went wide in shock as she picked up the book. He couldn’t have done that, could he? But… her cracks and fractures were gone for good. And the cracks on his face looked worse than ever. That only left one possibility.

“You idiota…!” She cried out. “You used my spellbook! How could you?!”

Ernesto flinched at her scream. “You asked for it! Something about a _**vínculo de almas** _ **.”**

Sartana gasped in horror and covered her mouth. “Oh no.” Her voice shattered. “You idiota, you could have _died_ for real! I must have spoken without thinking... Oh, Ernesto… I’m so, SO sorry…”

“Hey… it’s OK.” One of his hands removed hers from her mouth while the other lifted up her chin. “It was the first time I’ve done magic, and I think it didn’t work. You know what helped? The duct tape. Your cracks vanished as soon as I covered them.”

“No.” The lady in red and black shook her head. “The spell did work. I’m getting better... but you’re this hurt because of me! Soy una estúpida!”

Ernesto arched one of his brow ridges. “Qué pedo? What do you mean?!”

Sartana hugged herself, looking down in shame. “You see… that hechizo just linked our souls as one. Gracias to that magic, my soul just absorbed a huge amount of the energy you receive from those who remember you. You might feel your bones a little more… loose now.”

“Loose? As if I was starting to be Forgotten?”

“Algo así. Everything I feel in my body, you will feel it. And I will feel everything you do.”

Ernesto looked at his own fist for a moment. He opened and closed it. “I… I do feel different. A little sore. Is that how you feel?”

“Sí.” She nodded. “The spell gave me a lot of the energy your body was using to heal your cracks. Now your skeleton went back to square one. Lo siento mucho, Ernesto. That giant crack on your face…” She touched the right side of her skull. “I never realised how much it hurt you…”

“It’s alright.” Ernesto sighed. “I didn’t tell anyone about it, anyway…” Before she could ask more about it, he spoke. “But I’m not the only one with body secrets. I’ve seen them.”

Sartana gulped. “Seen… what?”

“The stumps on your back.” Ernesto pointed out, as he picked up her guitar. “You used to have real wings, didn’t you? Not only wings made of magic that appear and disappear at will.” He strummed carefully a few notes. “It’s just like that old song.”

_‘La Bikina…  sus alitas perdió…  La Bikina… no conoce el amor…’_

“So you heard that song too, uh…” Sartana rubbed her wrist, embarrassed.

“Así es.” He nodded. “You are _‘La Bikina’_ , aren’t you?”

The goddess looked down, her hands folding over her lap. When Ernesto had seen her like this, she didn’t have any reason to hide other secrets from him. “Sí… that’s me. And it isn’t the only thing I’ve lost.”

“There’s more?” Ernesto looked up, a hint of worry into his eyes.

Sartana sighed and lifted one hand, touching her head. For one split second she panicked, not finding her hat there - just to find it close by. She reached for it and took out something small hidden inside it.

“Is that…?” The surprise in his face was obvious.

“Yes… it’s a ragdoll of my sister Itzpa. Mira, it even has the same butterfly wings she does.” Sartana smiled weakly. “She had another one, shaped like the goddess I used to be. My mom made these for us.”

The mariachi cocked his head. “But… according to this doll… You were… different. More human-like?”

“Sí, I was.” She caressed gently the doll’s curls. “I was more beautiful than you can imagine. But everything changed when I fell in love with a human. Jorge Rivera.”

Ernesto pouted slightly. She could sense a hint of jealousy in his heart. “That… that’s alright, it isn’t like I haven’t had any other people in my life! There was Sofía, Cecilia, John, Selena, Luna, Mariquita, Araceli… Héctor, in a way...”

The goddess crossed her arms and frowned. She didn’t need to reply.

Ernesto rubbed the back of his head. “O-of course they don’t matter now! Please continue.”

_Good, he caught the hint._

“Gracias.” Sartana smiled, glad to have his full attention. “You see, Jorge was my everything. I was willing to do anything for him - I even let him take me before marriage.” Sartana bit her bottom lip. To think how bold she used to be back then... “I got pregnant, so we arranged everything to get married as soon as possible. Pero...”

“Pero?” His voice was soft, soothing even.

The goddess clenched her fists. “That pendejo cabrón abandoned me in the church! He was cheating on me! I was so hurt, that I asked my siblings for help. My hermano Tezca told me that maybe I could find a solution in the Book of Life.”

“What’s the Book of Life?” Ernesto’s ignorance would be almost cute, if it wasn’t because she was starting to realize the extent of how much he ignored. Yet he trusted her, helped her, even sacrificed his own integrity for her… She felt touched.

“It’s the Great Book of Stories. Everything that was, that is and will be is written in it. That Book decides who will die, when, and the way it will happen. Thing is… I stole the Book, and I got my sister Itzpa to help me to create a forgetting spell. I really, REALLY wanted to forget about Jorge.” She pulled the doll closer to herself. “Something backfired when I cast the spell, and Itzpa was the one who forgot everything. Her identity, her powers, everything she was. I couldn’t stop it. Then the spell spread over the Land of the Remembered. That’s why no one there remembers about the Land of the Unknown, the Cursed, or the Forgotten…”

Ernesto’s jaw dropped in shock. He picked it up and reattached it quickly to his skull. “So the Final Death isn’t really the end?!” he asked, utterly flabbergasted.

“That’s right. It’s just a myth that names the transition from one land to the next”, she sighed. “A myth that created a lot of fear, divided the population, brought back prejudice… It was a mess. All because of me. I hurt everyone. As you can imagine, my parents were livid.”

“I think I can imagine where this is going.” He frowned, holding her guitar closer to himself.

Sartana blushed, feeling his warmth all over her body. She placed the doll and the spellbook back into her hat, then looked back to him. “When I was banished, the Great Powers ripped off my wings and burned me alive. I lost my wings, my flesh...” She took off her wig, revealing the bald skull underneath. “Even my hair. I was pretty close to losing my son too... but my little Machete survived like a champ.”

“A brave young man.” He gave her a warm smile.

“The bravest of all.” The goddess felt the sting of tears at the thought of her son. She rubbed her eyes, not wanting to worry her partner in crime. “I know... between my crooked teeth and my baldness, I’m ugly enough to make kids cry. It’s no wonder “ _La Bikina”_ of the Land of the Dead makes references to me. It’s a warning so others don’t follow the same path I did.”

“Oh, Sartana…”  Ernesto put her guitar aside, then sat beside her. “That doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful in your own way. And Machete… he’s lucky to have you as his mamá.”

Sartana felt a particular tug on her ribcage. Like heartbeats going fast. But how could she feel anything like that, when she didn’t even have a heart? She put on her wig again, trying to occupy her mind with something that wasn’t these dangerous feelings.

“You’re sweet, but…” She shook her head and looked aside. “Why do you even care...? I have nothing to give you. Hell... Where’s Coco? Did you give up your chance of revenge for… me?”

He chuckled and placed his hand on top of hers. “She doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. Though I gotta admit, some of her advice was useful.” His soul markings showed a soft pink glow. “As for my revenge… I couldn’t plan anything against the Riveras.” He opened his arms. “You were leading us through the lands, to places I’ve never seen. I don’t even know what were you trying to achieve, but… you know what?” Somehow, time seemed to stop the moment he touched her cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sartana felt like she could cry. Such a gentle, tender touch. When was the last time she felt this loved and cared for? She leaned into it and closed her eyes, covering his hand with hers. “Ernesto…”

“I want you to know that I’m here for you.” He smiled. “Just like you were there for me. You were that woman, weren’t you? The one who kept me company all those noches. The one who saved my alebrijes. The one who freed me from that goddamned forsaken bell…”

Her mouth made an ‘O’ in surprise. “I thought you wouldn’t notice. How did you figure it out?”

“You gave me a good hint back at the camp." A playful smirk filled his face. "And while you were resting, I remembered that my alebrijes were upset at you when you brought them back to me. They ran away from you when we met again.”

The goddess slowly leaned forward, something within her aching to be closer. “Most people would be concerned when their alebrijes run away from someone”, she whispered, that sultry tone slipping through. “You know I am trouble wherever I go, _De la Cruz_ …”

“Oh, I **_love_ ** trouble.” He purred back, leaning forward as well. “And I love...”

Their lips were so close. Sartana could feel his breath calling for her. She wanted to kiss him, to lose herself in his warmth… But her common sense kicked in right then. What was she doing? Falling for a human?! AGAIN?! She gasped and retreated, looking aside. “Wait. N-n-no, we can’t. I’m sorry, we - I can’t do this…”

Ernesto flinched and looked down, his shoulders dropping. Feeling guilty herself, Sartana linked her fingers with his. “It isn’t you, Ernesto. It’s me. You know nothing about me... I doubt you would want me all the same if you knew the things I’m going through…”

“Just tell me, then!” The singer looked up to her. His fingers curled around hers. “I’ll listen. I want to help you. As your campeón, your amigo, your…”

“Shh…” She put a finger over his lips. Sartana knew what he was going to say, and as touching as it was, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with her plans if she was fully aware of his feelings. “De acuerdo. I’ll tell you. The truth is… I’m _dying_ , Ernesto.”

* * *

 

The musician felt his chest heavy as lead the moment she made such revelation. “Q-qué?!”

“Not right now! But if I die in this form, I won’t be able to come back to life like other gods can. The candle that holds my existence is pretty small…” She closed her eyes. “That’s why I came to this world. I don’t know how much time I have left; that’s why I felt that I had to come here, to do everything I wanted since I was banished: To meet you, to find happiness, to help Itzpa, to make everything alright…”

“I… I don’t think I’m worthy to be in your to-do list. I’m a killer, after all…” He mumbled.

“Indeed, you are.” Sartana wasn’t one to sugarcoat facts, Ernesto knew it well. “Though not exactly because you are a bad person at your core. That one time, the Book of Life decided it was time to end Héctor’s chapter, and it just used your rage to reach that goal. I know because my father told me. He was the one to give Héctor the Death Touch. All the music stealing was all your thing, though. Chingaderas.” She shrugged.

The mariachi wasn’t sure what was more mindblowing: the fact Sartana didn’t consider him entirely to blame for Héctor’s death, or the fact she didn’t seem to care all that much about the song stealing or him taking someone’s life. He fidgeted for a moment, trying to take it all in. Maybe gods had a grey morality because their lives were supposed to be eternal? Of course, there were concepts he still didn’t understand.

“What’s the Death Touch?”, he finally asked.

A soft blush showed upon her soul markings. “About that… It’s a power all death gods have. A god has to touch a human using this ability for that person to die.” Sartana rubbed her arm. “In fact… Remember there was a dancer who was lowkey flirting with you at your last concert? The one who bumped shoulders with you? That was… uhh… me.”

Ernesto had been trying to gather his belongings when he heard that revelation. He dropped his Wanted posters and stared at her. “That explains why you knew the dance steps of my _‘Remember Me’_ number… Wait. So you murdered ME?!”

“Not on purpose!” Sartana raised her hands up in self defense. “The Book said it had to be that day! The world as we know it would drown in chaos if gods tried to go against the Book! It was your time… I wanted to see you… My father gave me the chance to go to your concert as Quinceañera gift. I'm… I’m so sorry, Ernesto. Believe me, I didn't want you to die like that, it was horrible, I cried a lot afterwards, it was the first time I killed someone…”

She was rambling now, but Ernesto barely could hear it. So he had died at his prime, in the most spectacular way to go, because of her. His incredible death had contributed to feed the legend about him, making him as famous as he was in the Land of the Living. All because of her. What a joke. What a terrible irony. He pushed back his greasy hair and started to laugh.

Sartana stopped babbling. “... Ernesto? Are you… alright?”

“I fell in love with my murderer, how do you think I feel?” He rubbed his face and turned back to her. There were tears in his eyes. “I'm… I’m just so shocked. You... actually killed me in the best moment possible. A trauma with bells is a fair exchange for an afterlife of luxury. Yet... All my life I thought I was a horrible person, and you're just as bad as me, hahahaha!”

* * *

_I fell in love with my murderer._

Sartana couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t know how much she needed those words until she heard them. She, who believed herself to be haughty, ugly, prideful. The impossible bride, forever unloved. It took her a trip until the end of the world, but there they were: his feelings, expressed in the most raw and honest of ways. It was something beautiful, like a small star blossoming inside her chest, warming her soul.

The goddess didn’t even need to ask herself if she loved him too. She already knew the answer: she did. How could she not? He brought joy and cheer to her adolescence, he brought hope in her prime, and he soothed her troubled mind in her last days on Earth.

She reached for him and pulled him into a warm hug. “Shh…” She shushed him, and she felt Ernesto’s arms circling around her. “I’m… I’m really sorry about killing you. I guess we’re even. We’re two murderers.”

“We are.” He nodded, resting his face on her shoulder. She felt his breath slowing down.

“You could kill me right now.” She smirked, realizing both of them were shirtless. Who’d say she’d get this close to the man she used to idolise. Her fingers caressed his spine.

“Mmh… And you could do the same.” Ernesto whispered, carefully outlining her ribs.

Sartana chuckled and pushed him away. Then she put her hands on her hips. “And you might have stolen some fancy lyrics, but don't forget I’ve been stealing and harrassing the Riveras of Miracle City for more than 50 years. I win! I’m worse than you!”

“Ha!!” His smile was everything. “I beg to differ! Who’s the one who bought a cenote to get rid of troublemakers? Eh, eh? Hahaha!” He laughed, offering her a hand to stand up.

“Then you should be the first jumping into it... Pinche _De la Cruz_.” She took his hand, grinning. “We're both pretty fucked up, aren't we?”

“The worst.” He snickered and winced, touching the cracks on his face. “Ouch… It hurts when I laugh.”

“I can feel it.” She smiled quietly, reaching to offer him his vest. She let go of his hand to lift the suspenders of her dress. “You know… The spell… Fixing my guitar, helping me… you didn't have to do all of this.”

Ernesto took his vest and put it on. “Maybe, but I’m glad I did. Need help with the zipper?”

The goddess looked away, hiding the heat pooling on the spirals of her skull. “It would be nice to get that done without magic for once…” she whispered, bringing her wig to her front.

Ernesto’s bony fingers felt nice on her back. He lifted the zipper slowly, and she could tell he was admiring the view. It seemed he didn’t mind the charred remains on her back.

“¿Así está bien?” He asked, petting the soft area between her stumps.

“Sí, it’s all good. Gracias.” Sartana was about to say something, when he felt him hugging her from behind. It reminded her how cute it was that he was shorter than her.

“I haven’t felt this happy in so long…” He let out a soft sigh.

Sartana bit her bottom lip. She’d lie if she denied how much she enjoyed this too. But… she couldn’t let him get his hopes up. Not when she couldn’t make any promises.

“Ernesto… We shouldn’t…”

“What…?” His hold on her loosened, though he didn’t let go just yet. “Be together?”

“Sí.” That word ached to even think of. She removed his arms from her body, then picked up her guitar and put the strap around her shoulder. “We shouldn’t... I shouldn’t... Not when I could die, not when you could get even more hurt... I’m a goddess, you’re human...”

Sartana walked to the exit, avoiding his gaze. Her shoulders dropped. She felt extremely guilty for pushing his affections away, especially when love was something she’d craved for decades. But she couldn’t forget her problems. There was so much to do, so little time…

 _“You know I want you. It's not a secret I try to hide._  
_I know you want me. So don't keep saying our hands are tied._  
_You claim it's not in the cards_  
_Fate is pulling you miles away. And out of reach from me._ _  
_ But you're here in my heart. So who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny?”

The goddess looked back. “That's... _‘Rewrite the Stars’_ , from your movie _‘El Gran Circo’_ , isn't it?”

Ernesto simply nodded, and she understood. He was singing this song… for her. She brought a hand to her chest, that tight sensation was still there, warm like a summer breeze. 

 _“What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine._  
_Nothing could keep us apart. You'd be the one I was meant to find._  
_It's up to you, and it's up to me. No one can say what we get to be._  
_So why don't we rewrite the stars?_ _  
_ Maybe the world could be ours… Tonight.”

Sartana picked up her hat, put it on and walked out of the tree. If she stayed a single minute closer to him, she’d give in - and she couldn’t allow that to happen. Yet, she remembered each word of those old lyrics, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to sing along.

 _“You think it's easy. You think I don't want to run to you..._  
_But there are mountains. And there are doors that we can't walk through._  
_I know you're wondering why._  
_Because we're able to be, just you and me, within these walls._ _  
_ But when we go outside? You're going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all.”

She walked to the lagoon and stepped into the water. Luckily for them, the rain had stopped and the clouds began to dissipate, revealing a clear night sky. She closed her eyes and summoned her wings to fly away, all too aware he followed her steps.

 _“No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you'll be mine?_  
_Everything keeps us apart. And I'm not the one you were meant to find._  
_It's not up to you. It's not up to me. When everyone tells us what we can be._  
_How can we rewrite the stars?_ _  
_ Say that the world can be ours… Tonight.”

The moment her feet left the surface, Ernesto jumped in the air to take her hand. He managed to grab her wrist, but she could tell such fast movements hurt him - she could feel it in her bones.

 _“All I want is to fly with you!”  “All I want is to fall with you!”_ _  
_ _“So just give me all of you!”_

She descended to ease his aching, which helped him to capture her other hand with his and pull her down. Sartana lost her balance and fell into the water with him. Fortunately the lagoon was pretty shallow, so she barely got wet. Ernesto had caught her in his arms.

 _“It feels impossible!”  “It's not impossible.”_  
_“Is it impossible?”_ _  
_ “Say that it's possible!!!!”

Laughing as if there was no tomorrow, Sartana jumped to get up and pulled at his arm to help him up. Still holding hands, she splashed water with her feet and so did he. Beneath them, the reflection of the sky showed how stars flickered and vanished into the dark.  

 _“How do we rewrite the stars?_  
_Say you were made to be mine?_  
_Nothing can keep us apart._ _  
_ 'Cause you are the one I was meant to find!”

Ernesto drew a hand over her waist to pull her close, a mischievous gesture Sartana knew how to take advantage of. She opened her wings and drew a circle flying around him. Then she landed by his side. Even soaked, she knew how to swirl her skirt, especially when her dear mariachi drew a wonderful zapateado to match her moves.

 _“It's up to you. And it's up to me._  
_No one can say what we get to be!_  
_And why don't we rewrite the stars?_ _  
_ Changing the world to be ours!!”

As the song came to an end, Sartana allowed him to take her hand. Both of them released joyful gritos, as she twirled to fall into his arms. When he dipped her down, Ernesto leaned in for a kiss. It would be so easy to give in... But the goddess knew all too well that he deserved better. She placed one finger over his lips to stop him and shook her head. Then she cupped his cracked cheek, pressed a healing kiss on it and pulled back to admire her magic at work.

Ernesto froze in surprise. His soul markings released a golden glow before vanishing. Lines of a gold liquid began to fill up the cracks of his face and bones, restoring his skeleton to his former looks. Once the process was complete, the gilded lines turned green, imitating the stems of a plant. The place where his original soul markings rested showed red flower buds now: the symbol of a new, vibrant love blossoming inside him. If only she could return it...

 _“You know I want you. It's not a secret I try to hide..._ _  
_ _But I can't have you… We're bound to break and my hands are tied.”_

The goddess caressed his cheek and walked out of the water. She couldn’t stay here any longer. She just had admitted her **feelings** for him! Even if she didn’t mean to, the truth got out. She looked down and hugged herself. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his warmth…

“Sartana!” He ran up to her.

Her body, her heart, her soul called to his now - she didn’t even think, she just looked back.

“Ernesto…” She tentatively reached a hand toward him. He took it without hesitation.

“I… I might be just a human, and I know you have a lot of problems, but… let me help you, please. We… we don’t have to ‘be together’ in that way if you don’t feel ready for it yet, but… Maybe, when all this journey is over… Will you consider it?”

Always so kind. The goddess cocked her head and smiled. This was something within her possibilities. “I will. I promise.”

“Good!”  The mariachi smirked and squeezed her hand. “So… What’s next?”

“Actually, we have to go back to our camp to retrieve…”

**_“Bark, bark, bark!”_ **

Sartana and Ernesto looked back at the same time. A winged chihuahua placed a staff decorated with night-themed decorations onto the ground.

“The Moon Staff!” The goddess couldn’t believe her eyes. She knelt to pick it up. “But how?”

“All thanks to Doña Anita! Who's a good girl? Yes, you are!” Ernesto picked the alebrije up into his arms. The dog seemed a little confused at first, but barked happily as soon as he scritched behind her ears. “I missed you too, my little girl!”

Sartana giggled and bent forward to pet the dog. “Well, gracias, Doña Anita…” The chihuahua growled at her and turned around, ignoring her directly. The goddess looked back to Ernesto and chuckled. “Looks like your chihuahua still doesn’t like me.”

“Ah, just give her time. One day she’ll love you.” He winked an eye at her, flirty as he could be. “Looks like we won’t need to go back, now we’ve got the Moon Staff. So… what’s our next destination?”

“A place where no skeleton has ever ventured before.” The goddess smiled and pointed to a mountain in the distance. “To the Land of the Blessed!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new land comes into view! What's the Land of The Blessed? Why no skeleton has ever ventured in it before? What surprises await our villanous couple there? Also, a new sibling is mentioned! Who is this Tezca, and where is he now?  
> Stay tuned for more!
> 
> Credits for the OCs mentioned in this chapter:  
> Luna -> JadeDaUnicorn  
> John -> rainyday and pengychan  
> Mariquita -> pengychan  
> Selena -> lil-miss-weasley  
> Araceli -> frazzybear  
> Cecilia -> im-fairly-whitty
> 
> Translations for this chapter:
> 
> Doña - Mrs.  
> De nada - You're welcome  
> perra - female dog. It can be also used as insult.  
> pendejo/a - insult that means stupid/idiot and other similar meanings.  
> Suéltame - Let me go  
> familia - family  
> despierta! - wake up!  
> idiota - idiot  
> vínculo de almas - bond of souls, soul link  
> estúpida - stupid  
> Qué pedo? - What the hell?  
> hechizo - spell  
> Gracias - Thanks  
> Algo así - Something like that  
> Sí - Yes  
> Lo siento mucho - I'm so sorry  
> La Bikina - Mexican song composed by Rubén Fuentes in 1964. A modern version of the song sung by Karol Sevilla was included in Coco's OST.  
> sus alitas perdió - (she) lost her little wings  
> no conoce el amor - (she) doesn't know love  
> Así es - In this context, "that's right"  
> pero - but  
> cabrón - see "pendejo" above  
> hermano - brother  
> mamá - mom  
> noches - nights  
> campeón - champion  
> amigo - friend  
> De acuerdo - Here, "alright"  
> Qué? - What?  
> Chingaderas - Shit happens  
> Quinceañera - A special birthday party given to girls when they become 15 years old, which is when they begin to be seen as women, no longer children.  
> Pinche - A superlative that indicates something is bigger (or silly)  
> ¿Así está bien? - Is this good?  
> El Gran Circo - The Great Circus, a reference to Cantinflas's movie "El Circo" -> https://www.filmaffinity.com/en/film461885.html  
> gritos - screams


	22. Twin Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

The train had left behind the darkness of the Gods’ Train Station. The dawn of a new day revealed a cloudy sky filled with giant colourful skulls that floated in the air like balloons. Some of those skulls seemed to follow the movement of the train with their empty eye sockets. Miguel stared through the window with curiosity, taking in the view - the train was running over a dark ocean, where the only lights came from huge fish and whale alebrijes swimming under the surface.

“Miguel! Get back to your seat! You’re going to get hurt!” Mamá Imelda scolded him.

“Hehe, lo siento!” He wasn't exactly sorry, but he obeyed nonetheless. Once he found a comfortable position by her side, Miguel took a moment to think of his family. His great-great-grandparents were sitting together in this wagon, quietly cuddling until they reached the Cave of Souls. Xochi was dozing off, all scrunched up between Héctor and Manolo - the latter loudly snoring. In the wagon next to theirs, his Tíos Óscar and Felipe were sitting side by side as usual, with their girlfriends sitting in front of them. He could imagine Itchpo with some bags under her eyes. Lack of sleep, probably. The divine twins had stayed away from each other all night, and no one questioned it. Being a god had its perks - if it was him, his abuelita would probably overwhelm him with questions.

After so many hours in the train, Miguel could tell everyone was sleepy. He was pretty tired himself, but he couldn’t sleep. Now that things had quieted down - even if it was for such a little time - he finally remembered Xochi’s words.

_“One of your ancestors hurt my sister and tore my family apart. Don’t think I think poorly of you just because you’re human, Miguel. It’s because your family holds secretos you still ignore. Ask your Mamá Imelda, or your Tíos Óscar and Felipe. Maybe then you’ll understand.”_

Mamá Imelda and his Tíos knew something that was apparently kept a secret from everyone else. Who was that ancestor? Was it one of their parents? Grandparents? At this point, Miguel felt anything was possible. Especially when Papá Héctor connected the dots.

_“Did you just say… Sartana is… your sister…?”_

Sartana, the rogue goddess who had started all of this, was hurt by one of his ancestors. Miguel was starting to question his own beliefs. What if Sartana only wanted justice? What if she took Ernesto and Mamá Coco in an attempt to draw attention to her own tragedy? What if Mamá Imelda and her siblings were keeping another person in the dark, besides of Papá Héctor? If he had learned something in his journeys to the Land of the Dead, it was that nothing remains secret forever. In the end, the truth always comes out to the light - in one way or another. Even if he had to fish it out all on his own.

Miguel looked to his side. “Mamá Imelda…There’s something I wanted to ask you… if it’s OK?”

“Mmh? Sure.” His great-great-grandmother stretched one arm and put it around his shoulders, pulling him close. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

Miguel clenched his fists. “When I visited La Muerte’s palace, Xochi said something about Sartana. That she was hurt by one of my ancestors…” He looked up to her. “And that you knew something. And my tíos too.” He narrowed his eyes. "You weren't only trying to protect us from Papá Héctor, were you? There was… someone else, too. Am I wrong?”

* * *

 

Imelda stared at Miguel for a few seconds, trying to read his expression. Maybe he was just thirteen, but he had proven that he was mature enough to face ugly truths from his family. After all, it was Miguel who had helped Héctor to discover the truth of his death. Nothing could be worse than that… except the fact that her side of her family wasn’t something to be proud of. She folded her hands on her lap and looked down.

“No… You’re right.” She sighed, trying to find the words. “It’s true, I was… hiding someone.”

“Who?” Miguel whispered, leaning close to her.

The woman looked aside. Was he ready? Was _she_ ready? That man was a symbol of the world she had tried to leave behind. But her past always came back to claim a piece of the present and a place in her memories, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

“Mamá Imelda?”

Miguel deserved the truth. Hiding the past almost killed him once; and Imelda wasn’t willing to take the same risk again. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath to answer.

“My younger medio-hermano. Jorge Rivera.”

The child cocked his head. “Abuelita never mentioned him. Does she know about Jorge?”

“Probably not. Only Óscar, Felipe and myself knew about him, but… we don’t consider him part of the family. He’s son to our father’s second wife.” Imelda avoided his gaze. “Our mother died giving birth to the twins, and my father tried to force me to follow the same path he did. What he did for a living wasn’t anything close to my dream, or to your Tíos’. So we escaped from that life… and from him, too. Jorge was born afterwards.”

He tilted his head. “What kind of life was that…?”

Of course Miguel would ask for more, that was his nature. Imelda knew it well. But the truth was something that clashed so much with the organised lifestyle she had left to her descendants! What if he didn't believe her?

“Promise not to laugh if I tell you.”

“Lo prometo.”

Imelda stared at him for a moment. Nine months ago her great-great-grandson had taught her a valuable lesson with his raw honesty. Maybe it was about time that she was honest to herself, too. Her truth had been under wraps long enough.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as her hands fidgeted. “...By day, he was Simón Rivera, a sheriff in this frontier town, Miracle City.”

Miguel arched one eyebrow. “That doesn't sound too bad.”

“I'm not done.” Imelda messed gently with his hair. Touching him had a calming effect on her. “When the sun went down, my father got on his horse, and patrolled the city as a masked superhero... Justice Jaguar.”

* * *

 

Miguel's eyes went wide. He had heard of Justice Jaguar, who hadn't? He was a legend in the ring, just like El Santo.

“No manches...You’re kidding, right? Hehe, I almost fell for it, Mamá Imelda…”, he tried to laugh it off. _This must be a joke._ How could he be related to someone that formidable? He hugged himself and growled inwardly, not finding any muscle at all.

Her deadpan expression left no room to doubts. “No. Not at all.”

So this wasn't some tomfoolery. It was _real_. “Santa María…” Miguel sank into his seat, trying to process such a revelation. “I thought he was a masked luchador.”

A little sad smile came to her face.“He was. It was his extra secret identity in case civilians caught him putting on the mask.”

_She isn't kidding. Oh Virgencita. She isn't kidding!_

“So I’m great-great-great-great-grandson of a national superhero?”, he whispered, not believing his ears.

“That’s correct.”

Miguel remained quiet for a while, taking all it in. A musician and composer, a bullfighter, a superhero who doubled as wrestler… The more he dug in his family's past, the more amazing his roots were. To think that extraordinary legacy was lost in his shoemaker family...

“I don't understand why you left him… it sounds like such an incredible way to live”, he mumbled, unable to hide a disappointed tone in his voice.

“I wanted to settle down and marry your Papá Héctor. Plus I'm not cut out to be a superheroine, Miguel. Do you really see me kicking people in costume?” She joked and winked an eye at him.

“Maybe?” Miguel chanced with a half-grin. “You already do it with your _mighty_ boot.”

“Pffff”, Imelda snorted. “That was one of the few useful things I learned from him.”

“A useful one indeed!” Miguel still laughed when he remembered the boot-slap she had given to Ernesto in his last Sunrise Spectacular. By the time the giggles between grandma and grandson died down, Miguel had managed to collect his thoughts.

“So you left Miracle City and started a new life with Papá Héctor… and your dad remarried at some point, and Jorge stayed with him…”

“Sí, así es.” Imelda nodded. “Your tíos came from Miracle City to help me to find Papá Héctor when he went missing on tour, and never looked back. They didn't need to sacrifice so much for me - but they did, and I'm immensely thankful for it.”

Miguel bit his bottom lip. “Have you ever talked with Jorge?”

“Once: Día de Muertos, 1962. He told me he had fu… screwed up real bad, that he needed a place to hide. I refused to help him out because he didn't call us when our father died. I missed his funeral because of that idiot! And he never bothered calling me or the twins on Christmas or our birthdays either. He never cared about us until he had the devil on his tail...”

“Chingada madre. I assume he was the one who hurt Sartana, then.” Miguel looked down. “Someone like that… it’s incredible I have a Tío like that.”

“Don’t curse like that, Miguel!” Imelda gave him a little slap on the back of his head. Then she pulled him into a hug. “Family isn't only blood, ¿sabes? Family is the people that make you the happiest.” She pulled back to release him, holding him by the shoulders. “After the deaths of your Tíos and my own I thought he’d try to reach Coco, but… when he didn't bother contacting anyone in our living family, I knew he didn’t want to be part of it. He’s not worth your time, if all he cares about is himself.”

“He’s still part of the family…” Miguel leaned against her. He wasn't really arguing back - it was more of a sad statement. “You should talk to him someday. Just saying.”

Imelda sighed and kissed the top of his head. “Quizá. One day.”

* * *

 

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, and Itchpo hadn’t been able to catch any sleep. When she noticed the first rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, she got up and grasped one of the grab rails with both hands. It was a good support to practice flight moves, to stretch her wings and get ready for the day awaiting them. She flapped her wings and tried to focus on the feeling of the air slipping through the petals. Still, her mind was taking her in a different direction.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Xochi’s words… and especially Sartana. Her memories about her older sister were vague, she was basically a toddler when her oldest sister was banished. She had an idea of the person her sister used to be: a teenager with hopes and dreams, an excellent guitarist and a big fan of Ernesto de la Cruz, if the posters and vinyls in her bedroom were proof of anything. An image that clashed with the commentaries she heard through the decades: a dangerous goddess, able to bring death and misery wherever she’d go, who tried to use the Book of Life for her own benefit and hurt their own sister, Itzpa.

Itchpo stared at her own hands and folded her wings, frustrated at herself. If only she could fly, she’d go all the way just so they could talk. Which version of the story was true? Was Sartana a threat, and her own memories just an illusion? Or was Sartana a victim of rumors and gossiping? And if the latter was true - did she hate all humanity like Xochi did, or just Jorge?

And most importantly - after her heartbreak, what would she say about Miguel?

_Miguel..._

She sat back on her seat, her soul markings turned pink. Maybe her hermano was right. Maybe she was crushing a little on Miguel, but this wasn’t the time to put that emotional load on him. He already had a big weight on his shoulders with the kidnapping of his Mamá Coco... Still, having feelings toward him meant more issues with Xochi. Itchpo clenched her fists and bit her bottom lip. This situation called for some wisdom that only twins would understand. Luckily for her, there were two sets aboard, so… it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

She got up and knelt between Óscar and Scardelita. She extended one hand toward Óscar, hesitated for a moment and finally tugged at his sleeve. “Discúlpame… I need some help.”

* * *

 

“Mmmh…?” Óscar opened one eye, just to find the young goddess sitting in front of him. “¿Señorita Itchpo..?”

“I need your help, guys. It’s…” Itchpo glanced quickly at her brother. “...a twin thing.”

“Uhhh…” Óscar knew at that moment that this wasn’t an issue he could handle alone. He tugged at his brother’s sleeve. “Felipe… Felipe, wake up!”

“Uh-huh? W-what?!” Felipe gasped and opened his eyes. “It’s daytime already…? Oh! Hola, señorita Itchpo!”

“She needs our help with twin issues.” Óscar raced to explain. “Have we ever had any…?”

“Not that I can recall. But maybe our girls can help us here.” Felipe got up and sat next to his girlfriend, who was sleeping. She was leaning on her sister’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up…”

“Mmm.” Adelita yawned and stretched. When she did, she accidentally punched her sister.

“Ow! ¿Qué pedo, Adelita?” Scardelita woke up and protested, covering the hole of her nose with her bony phalanges. “It’s too early for these pendejadas… Uh?” She had just noticed Felipe. “Is something wrong, boys?”

“Well, la señorita Itchpo has a problem with her hermano and she asked us for help...” Felipe started, looking at his brother.

“But we’ve never had issues, not serious ones.” Óscar finished. “So we thought maybe you two have some story you could share?”

Adelita rubbed her chin. “That depends on what is what you want to do, Itchpo. What’s the real core of the problem? Is it your twin, or is there something more?”

Itchpo looked down and hugged herself. “No lo sé. There’s so much going on. My sister kidnapped Coco… Xochi is angry at me because I want to be friends with Miguel and he fears he can hurt me, but… I’m pretty sure he won’t, even though we know that some humans can be cruel to gods. But I can’t do anything to help you guys. I’m not good at magic… I can’t even fly!”

“Woah, woah, stop it right there!” Scardelita raised her hands to cut off her babbling. “My sister asked for the core of the problem, not your life story!”

“Lita, para.” Óscar took his girlfriend’s hand, making her stop. “I believe I can see the root of the problem.” He left his seat to sit on the floor right in front of the child. “Itchpo…”

“Sí?” The child looked up to him and for the briefest of moments, Óscar felt that he wasn’t looking at a mighty goddess, but his little niece Coco. These kinds of fears were something common among gods and humans, weren’t they? His expression softened at the thought.

“...you’ve been swept by this whole chain of events and you haven’t had time to process everything, no es así?”, he asked, pushing his glasses back.

“I…” Itchpo froze for a few seconds, then looked away. Her hands clutched her black and yellow apron, folding it over itself. “Maybe. But this isn’t about me, it’s about…”

“You think too much, chamaquita.” Felipe slapped his knee. “You gotta let yourself be. Just like we did, right guys?”

“That’s true.” Adelita smiled and nodded in agreement. “We didn’t think twice when we joined the Revolution. We just did. We followed our hearts.”

“Even if it cost our lives, I’d do it again and again.” Scardelita crossed her arms and nodded as well. “But I think our stories of the revolution might be a little too much for you, florecilla. They’re too violent and bloody.”

“There’s a story following that idea that isn’t that bloody, though.” Felipe wrapped one of his arms around Adelita’s shoulders, and she leaned into him with ease. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “The day when we met... do you remember it, Didi?”

She sighed and pulled his skull close, leaving a kiss on his cheekbone. “How could I forget?”

“I know what we’re going to do.” Óscar opened his arms. He took Scardelita’s hand and pulled her close, making her land on his lap. The soldadera wouldn’t allow anyone to hold her this close, but Óscar was an exception to the rule, and he knew it well.

“Story time?” Scardelita asked, leaning against him.

“Story time.” Óscar confirmed, noticing a little smile peeking on Itchpo’s face. “Everything started some years ago, in the Land of the Remembered…”

Felipe snickered and winked an eye at Itchpo. “And, as usual, we were in trouble.”

* * *

 

_"Do you think the Land of the Remembered doesn't need shoes? Go get that leather, ahora! And don't you dare slack off!"_

_When Imelda got this pissed, Felipe knew he had to run for his afterlife. He should have expected that outcome, mentioning Héctor around her was asking for death by boot. But he couldn’t help it. His bones weren’t white and pristine like theirs, and his clothes looked very torn. And his feet were completely bare! Something with him wasn’t alright._

_Óscar agreed with him, but getting Imelda to collaborate was impossible. She’d push them to “do something useful for once”, like she always did every time she wanted to end a conversation for good. She just wouldn’t listen._

_He crossed his arms and kicked a stone in frustration, lagging behind Óscar as they walked down the street. Felipe could pout for hours if he wanted - until he hit his brother’s back._

_“Ouch! Óscar, estás al aventón or what?!” He protested, adjusting his hat._

_“Shh!” His brother dragged him behind a nearby house. “Felipe, look!”_

_It was then that Felipe realized two things: the first, they had taken the wrong route to their leather provider. And the second; he could see a stone fountain decorated with fishes and skulls, and a girl sitting on the edge, crying her heart out. Though this wasn’t an ordinary girl, oh no. It was a soldadera - her outfit revealed a life and death forged in battle. When she wiped her eyes, Felipe noticed she had taken off an eyepatch._

_“Óscar, we can’t do anything, we should go…” Felipe grabbed his brother’s arm and tried to stop him. “You know Imelda is going to murder us if we don’t go home soon…”_

* * *

 

Itchpo’s eyes were sparkling. She brought her hands over her heart. “That was you, Scardelita!”

“Hehe, sí! That was me!” Scardelita giggled and petted the goddess’s head. It was hard to see her as a mighty immortal being when she got so excited over such simple things.

“Was it love at first sight?” Itchpo put her hands on her cheeks, smiling from ear to ear.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘love’ to be honest… Hahahahaha!” The soldadera burst into laughter, leaning on her boyfriend for support.

“More like trouble at first sight!” Óscar snickered. “I’ll continue from now on, Felipe.”

* * *

 

_Óscar approached the girl carefully. He didn’t want to scare her off. But the tables turned when she raised a saber on his direction - pointing straight to his face!_

_“Don’t get any closer, escuincle.” She hissed, not even looking at him._

_Now that he was a little closer, the older Rivera twin could tell she smelled of cigarettes and tequila. “H-how did you know I was here…?”_

_She let out a dry chuckle and wiped her tears away with her free hand, while the other still held up her weapon. “I could hear you two from three miles away. Plus you drag your feet and they’re quite big. Fitting for a payaso like you.”_

_“Qué?!” Óscar gasped and looked down. “They aren’t that big! Felipe, díselo!” Óscar looked around, only to notice Felipe was still hiding in the corner. “Felipe!!”_

_“She got a sword!” His brother squeaked. “And Imelda will kill us if we don’t get that leather!”_

_Óscar frowned and raised one finger. “Give me just one minute, señorita.” He whispered , before he ran back to Felipe. “What’s wrong with you?”_

_“That girl es de mecha corta, Óscar.” His twin answered, his hands clenched into fists. “I know you like to help everyone, but I don’t want you to fight with a soldadera. She’ll wreck you, haven’t you read about the Revolution? Petra Ruiz? Chiquita? Rosa Bobadilla?”_

_“No… Not much. But you’ve given me an idea.” Óscar smiled, looking back to the girl. She had lowered her weapon, and it seemed she put on her eyepatch again. “You go get the leather shipment. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to fight her.”_

_“Óscar… I don’t think…” Felipe fidgeted, worry etched in his skull._

_“We’re dead, brother. It can’t get worse than that. Now go! We’ll meet here in one hour.”_

_The puppy eyes worked with Felipe, they always did. The younger twin finally gave up. “De acuerdo. Make sure to keep your skull attached to your body. I’m not gonna look for it in the trash like the last time.”_

_“Por supuesto. Now, go, go, go!”_

_Óscar watched his sibling leave and his confidence vanished the moment Felipe was out of sight. He never had problems wooing ladies in life or death, but none had stayed long enough for him to marry. The music ban was more than most people could handle; and at some point, he just had given up on the idea of romance altogether. However, that wouldn’t stop him from helping someone in need. He returned to the fountain and sat next to the girl, leaving some distance between them.  He kept both of his hands on his lap, his eyes glued to the floor. “Soy Óscar. Óscar Rivera. Shoemaker… and inventor.”_

_“Scardelita Sánchez. Soldadera of Petra Herrera’s independent all-female brigade. Bet you can’t beat that, escuincle.” She replied, lifting a bottle by her side. “Tequila?”_

_“Sure. But I’m not an escuincle. I’m actually 44 years old, or I was when I died.” Óscar took the bottle and gave it a good sip. Immediately he started coughing. “Blegh! It’s so strong!”_

_“It’s tequila from my era. You’d be able to drink it if you lived through the revolution, but you can’t.” Scardelita took the bottle from him. “So you’re still an escuincle.”_

_Óscar coughed and crossed his arms. “I’m… trying to help you…”_

_“You can’t help me, niño.” Scardelita turned around, giving him her back. “No one can.”_

_His moustache wiggled when he frowned. “Everything can be fixed, except death”, he answered, getting slightly closer to put a hand on her shoulder. “And if it can’t… You can tell me, at least. My father always said that sometimes you don’t need to think. You become what you’re meant to be, because life flows like a river.”_

_“A river, uh…” Scardelita looked up and took off her hat. It was then that Óscar noticed tears still falling down her cheekbones. “Can you tell me how to make the pain stop?”_

* * *

 

Itchpo arched one eyebrow and her nose scrunched up. “The pain? What happened to you, Lita?”

“A severe case of heartbreak, you see.” Scardelita looked down and looked at her own hands. “During the Revolution, there were several types of soldaderas. I was one of the ones that joined because of love. I cooked, spied on, cleaned and kicked ass because of him.”

“That’s right.” Adelita continued, reaching to hold her sister’s hand. “Scardelita joined because she had a massive crush on Armando, a boy from San Ángel, our village; and he led her on believing they could be together after the war.”

“But it was a lie.” Felipe followed, putting a hand on Adelita’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe he was cheating on you all the time...”

“And with several men and women, no less.” Óscar shook his head and kissed Scardelita’s cheek. “I don’t care if he was a joto, that isn’t the problem. But he was using Lita as cover up without her knowing - FOR YEARS! Such an amarra-navajas.”

Scardelita smiled, touched by how protective everyone was about her. “Gracias... I’m better now. Finding out the truth several years after your death… living in that lie for decades, well… it didn’t sit well with me. I was drunk and angry and about to throw up. I was having flashbacks of the war as well - which is why I started to test Óscar. Part of me was aware that my mind and the real world were two different things, but…” She looked up to her sister.

Adelita gave her a knowing nod. “It isn’t a good idea to be around us when we’re scared. Scardelita took a bullet to the eye for me. I was shot on the back when I was trying to take my sister out of the battlefield.” She frowned. “The horror of the war never fades away.”

“You two seem to be very in sync. I’m sorry you guys died like that. You were very brave.” Itchpo smiled sadly to the sisters. It was then that a detail of the story caught her attention. “Now I think of it… How come Scardelita was alone?”

The twin sisters exchanged a look, then Adelita answered. “I can take the story from here.”

 

* * *

_“Scardelita! Scardelita! Where are you, hermana?” Adelita called out. She wasn’t really familiar with this street, she wasn’t in San Ángel anymore. As she ran, memories of her past flew through her mind. The dust, the smoke, the bullets. She stopped running, closed her eyes and covered the sides of her head, trying to block out the noise._

_“It isn’t real, I’m already dead” she whispered, taking one step. “It isn’t real. I’m already dead.” She took another, and very soon, she was running blindly. Just like in those years. Run from the bullets, run from the people, run and stay alive--_

_And then her skeleton slammed into someone else’s._

_“Ye-owch!” She heard a man scream, then a noise of bones scattered across the pavement. Both hers and someone else’s._

_When she opened her eyes, Adelita reconnected with reality. She was already dead - and she just knocked off the bones from a passerby skeleton. “AAAHH! Oh, lo siento! Lo siento mucho! Let me help!” She grabbed her own skull and placed it over her neck. Then she called the rest of her bones with an unconscious wish she didn’t need to voice._

_“I-I’m sorry too, señorita.” The man put himself together as well.  It seemed he was a little nervous, given the way he avoided meeting her gaze. “Is this pinky finger mine or yours?”_

_“Oh, it’s mine, muchas…” The man actually held her hand and placed the pinky finger on the proper place. Her soul markings lit up a bit. He let her go, and Adelita stared at her pinky in awe. Such a gentle touch. “...gracias.”_

_“De nada.” The man smiled. “I’m Felipe Rivera. Are you alright? I was on my way to get some leather for my family shoe shop and…”_

_“I…” Adelita hesitated from a moment. Usually she’d pull a gun on a stranger who noticed her weakness, but something about Felipe didn’t strike her as dangerous. “I’m trying to find mi hermana. She ran off and I’m very worried about her.” She looked aside. “I’m Adelita, by the way. You didn’t see my sister, did you? She’s a soldadera, we dress up the same…”_

_His eyes grew wide. “...Does she have an eyepatch?” Felipe asked. “If yes... mi hermano is trying to help her ahorita…”_

_“¡¿Qué?!” Adelita grabbed his wrist and started to walk fast again, dragging him along. “We gotta hurry! We can’t leave them alone!”_

_“But… the leather…” Felipe whined, unable to resist her pull. “I assure you, señorita, mi hermano is a decent man! He would never hurt your sister…”_

_“It isn’t my sister who I’m worried about now. She might have held back during the time you guys were together - but being alone? She’s gonna wreck him!!!!”_

* * *

 

“...Turned out, he didn’t need our help. Scardelita found such comfort with Óscar, that she invited him to visit San Ángel. Felipe and me got lost and spent hours looking for them - y estos chavos, can you believe it? They were eating enchiladas michoacanas and flirting like idiotas in a restaurant!” Adelita laughed and clapped her hands. “We became best friends, and eventually friendship became love...”

“We forgot entirely about the leather shipment and Imelda didn’t let us hear the end of it for two weeks straight.” Felipe shook his head. “But I think the lesson of the story is pretty clear, isn’t it?”

Itchpo cocked her head and bit her finger. “That… afterlife is unpredictable?”

“Well, that too, not gonna lie.” Óscar chuckled and petted the young goddess’ head. “But the real lesson is: **Don’t think** of what you want to be. **Become** what you want to be. You see… when thought and bravery fail - we gotta follow our instincts.” He laid back on his seat and crossed his legs. “This can be applied to siblings too. We didn’t fight Imelda’s music ban - we let it slip through our lives, and as we bent to survive her storm, we found other things that made us happy, like inventions, our family, our girlfriends… You only have to listen to your heart. Tell me, Itchpo… What’s in yours? What do you -truly- feel?”

“Knowing there’s bad people out there does sadden me, but…” The goddess’s soul markings showed a soft rose hue. “I… I feel happy when I’m with Miguel. It feels right when we’re together. So if I want to be closer to him, is it alright? Even with what happened in the past?”

“Yes. Whatever that past might be, it doesn’t define you, chamaquita. You’re you.” Scardelita smirked and put her huge red sombrero on Itchpo’s head. “Here, you can wear it. Maybe some of my strength will rub off on you. Just remember to return it later!”

“Aw, muchas gracias!” Itchpo lifted the tip of the hat and smiled. Sartana’s past didn’t get to decide her future. Neither Xochi, her other siblings, or her parents. She could create her own path. Now she knew it.

* * *

 

Xochi stared through the window and sighed. Itchpo had avoided him all the night, and now she seemed to be on friendly terms not only with Miguel, but also the Rivera and Sánchez twins. It was hardly a surprise - he knew that his sister was an extrovert, and she’d chat up even rocks if she was bored.

Usually it was just Itchpo and him against the world, but now… now he was all alone. He wasn’t planning to wake up Manolo or Héctor, he had heard enough serenatas last night. Miguel was definitely a no-no, and Imelda… he suspected she wasn’t too fond of him either.

He looked past him. The guardian alebrijes were suspiciously quiet. Were they sleeping? Maybe it would be better to check. They would reach the Cave of Souls soon. Once he made sure no one in his wagon was awake, he turned himself incorporeal and crossed through the walls until he reached the alebrije wagon. And what an outlook awaited him there! Simón Rivera was arguing against the Perón family, supported by “Dante” and “Rayo”. But they weren’t in their animal forms, oh no! All of them had turned into their human forms!

The Peróns dressed up in fancy yellow-speckled green suits with pink details, matching dog tails and bright-colored puppy ears protrude from their heads. ‘Rayo’ was a tall, broad-shouldered skeleton with bull horns on his head and an elegant matador outfit; while ‘Dante’ was a mostly bald skeleton with a dull brown mariachi suit, thin Xolo ears, a toothless mouth and a round face.

“All of this is your fault, Pablo.” Simón hissed, pointing at the oldest man in green. “You guys were with Ernesto all the time! Why didn’t you stop him?!”

“You haven’t seen Sartana’s powers, Rivera.” Cheque, the youngest man of the family, growled without hesitation. “My brother has done some bad things, sure - but kidnapping Coco wasn’t one of them!”

“That’s a load of mierda and you know it,” ‘Rayo’ protested. “I might not have met Coco personally, but Ernesto had to tell her about Coco at least - so he’s partly to blame too!”

“No seas pelado, Rayo.” Lucinda, the only child present in the family, stepped forward to shield her older brother. “We all know Neto has done some questionable choices and we haven’t even earned our wings yet - but I know mi hermano pequeño!” She clenched her fist. “There’s good in Neto, I know him!”

“Are you sure, buki?” ‘Dante’ crossed his arms. “Last time I saw him, he tried to throw my ward off a building and almost killed him. What good can be left in a person like that?”

“You can’t understand the things Ernesto has gone through, wey.” Pablo got up and wrapped his arms around Cheque and Lucinda’s shoulders. “You got to live and raise your children. Anita and me couldn’t even do that, we died when he was just a child.” He narrowed his eyes toward Simón. “I’ve heard some rumors too. As far as I’ve heard in the alebrije headquarters, you’re living a double life because your children hate you, Rivera. So… not being able to raise your child, or living to do it in the worst way possible. Simón, what’s good?!”

“Waaaah! O-BLI-TE-RA-TED!” Cheque clapped his hands. “You tell him, Papá!”

“Gracias, gracias. Not bad for a fireworks maker, huh?” Pablo put his hands on his hips, smirking.

“That… that doesn’t matter.” Simón growled, releasing their bright colored wings. “Let’s solve this like the alebrijes we are, maldito pulgoso.”

“If you want a duel, come and get it, gatito.” Pablo opened his mouth, revealing his fangs.

“ENOUGH!” Xochi exploded and released a bright pink aura that flooded the wagon. Everyone turned to face him, concern on their faces. “What… what are you doing?! You’re guardian alebrijes! You’re supposed to keep it together for your wards!”

“It’s… it’s really hard, Príncipe de las Flores.” Xochi felt his heart melting when Cheque used one of his official titles. “I… Well, them… All of us…”

“It’s OK, Cheque.” Xochi touched his shoulder, then turned to the rest of the group. “Look, you don’t need to apologise. This mission is turning out to be something much larger than life and death themselves. My mother isn’t here to guide us with her wisdom, and in her absence, I must take the lead. I know you’re scared - yo también tengo miedo, to be true. But do you know what I see? I see a group of strong, brave alebrije warriors ready to protect their wards.”

He walked to Rayo and patted his chest. “Señor Tranca, you helped Carlos when he trained Manolo to become a matador. Even if ultimately Manolo didn’t follow the way of the sword you still decided to become his alebrije, showing your loyalty and strength.”

“Yes, I’m pretty strong, indeed.” Tranca flexed his bones, earning a chuckle from the others.

Xochi walked to ‘Dante’. “Don Dámaso, you raised your daughter Luisa in a life of music and joy. It is indeed a tragedy that the music ban separated your ways. But Miguel would be very proud of his abuelo… if he knew you’re his Xolo.”

“As long as Miguel is happy, I feel like I’ll be doing a good job.” Dámaso nodded and smiled.

Xochi nodded as well, then turned to the Perón family. “Pablo, Lucinda, Cheque. You guys did your best. I know it’s hard to work with a soul who has known no true love. But you kept alive the little humanity still left in Ernesto - and that’s an achievement, too.”

“Gracias, noble florido.” Lucinda spoke in the name of her family. The three of them bowed to him. “We only want to save Ernesto.”

“I know. You already did, letting the gods know.” Xochi smiled to her, then looked up. The last alebrije, Simón Rivera.

“Mi señor…” Xochi could hear the apology bouncing on their voice. The crimson dressed god crossed his arms and met their gaze. Funny how Simón was taller than him. He only needed to reach the godly growth spurt...

“Look Rivera, I’ll be honest with you. I hate your youngest son’s guts. He took everything from my sister Sartana, destroyed my family, and ultimately his actions hurt my sister Itzpa and everyone else in the Land of the Remembered. I can’t forgive or forget that, ever.” With every charge he pressed, he could see the alebrije guardian wince.

It would be cathartic… if it wasn’t because Xochi knew Simón wasn’t really the one to blame.

“However…” The white-haired boy continued. “Your other kids are good people. Through all this night, I’ve felt Imelda’s love for her great-great-grandson. And I’ve felt Óscar and Felipe’s affection for my sister Itchpo. They might be mad at you, like Don Pablo pointed out earlier.” Xochi gave a sidelong glance to Ernesto’s father, then looked back at Simón and patted their shoulder. “But they’re still good people. You made mistakes - but you taught them how to love, too. That’s the most valuable lesson of all. And because of that, I’m proud of you.”

Suddenly, the train stopped, and a mechanical voice could be heard over their heads. “Current stop, Cave of Souls. Current stop, Cave of Souls. Make sure to pick up all your belongings and alebrijes before you leave the train; gracias.”

At those words, the alebrije guardians changed their forms, becoming again chihuahuas, a Xolo dog, and a bull in small tornadoes of marigold petals. Simón put a hand on Xochi’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“You know, my prince… I used to think you were un mocoso malcriado, but… today you spoke with the wisdom of your mother.” They released him, then bowed to the child. “I’m proud of you too. I’ll be honored to follow your lead, Xochipili.”

“Pfff, don’t use my full name, it’s embarrassing. Hurry and change before Imelda comes.” Xochi waved his hand and smiled.

“Sure.” Being a fully-developed guardian alebrije, shapeshifting took a little longer.

Time was exactly what they didn’t have, because Miguel stepped into the wagon just then. “Xochi, get ready, we’re about to leave the train and…” His eyes went wide when he saw the young god and the winged skeleton. “Who are you?!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Petra Ruiz, Chiquita, Rosa Bobadilla and Petra Herrera were real life soldaderas, warrior women of the Mexican Revolution. Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soldaderas and https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/petra-herrera  
> \- Adelita Sánchez suffers from PTSD. Both sisters do, actually - but Adelita's is especially strong, because she saw her sister die, and she was killed when trying to drag Scardelita out of of the battlefield.  
> \- Dámaso "Dante" is Miguel's grandfather on his mom's side. He died shortly after Miguel was born. As for Tranca, he was actually Manolo's godfather and he's an OC of mine :)  
> \- Miguel just caught Simón while transforming! This could lead to even more trouble for our young hero...
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry  
> Mamá - Mom  
> Tíos - Uncles  
> secretos - secrets  
> mijo - my son  
> Papá - Dad  
> medio-hermano - half-brother  
> abuelita - grandma  
> Lo prometo - I promise  
> No manches - a expression of surprise  
> Santa - Saint  
> Virgencita - an affectionate way to refer to the Virgin Mary  
> “Sí, así es.” - Yes, that's right  
> Chingada madre - a very nasty cursing word  
> ¿sabes? - You know?  
> quizá - maybe  
> pendejadas - silly things  
> la señorita - the (young) lady  
> hermano - brother  
> "No lo sé" - "I don't know"  
> para - stop  
> sí - yes  
> "no es así?” - "isn't it?"  
> chamaquita - little girl  
> florecilla - little flower  
> soldadera - warrior women of the Mexican Revolution (read more in the links provided above)  
> estás al aventón? - are you distracted?  
> escuincle - child  
> payaso - clown  
> qué? - what?  
> es (ser) de mecha corta - to be impatient, prone to anger, with little tolerance to nonsense or silliness  
> de acuerdo - alright  
> por supuesto - of course  
> niño - child  
> joto - gay man  
> amarra-navajas - troublemaker, person that gets you in trouble, talks at your back or says things they shouldn't  
> gracias - thank you  
> hermana - sister  
> de nada - you're welcome  
> enchiladas michoacanas - a traditional Mexican dish from the Michoacán area, made with vegetables and poultry.  
> idiotas - idiots  
> mierda - shit  
> "No seas pelado" - "Don't be so foul-mouthed"  
> mi hermano pequeño - my little brother  
> buki - child  
> wey - friend, partner, person in general  
> papá - dad  
> maldito pulgoso - damn flea-infested (creature)  
> gatito - kitten  
> Príncipe de las Flores - Flower Prince  
> yo también tengo miedo - I am scared too  
> señor - mister, lord  
> matador - bullfighter  
> don - Mr.  
> abuelo - grandfather  
> noble florido - flowery noble  
> mi señor - my lord  
> mocoso malcriado - In this context, spoiled child


	23. Everything Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

“W-who are you?!”

“Miguel, this isn’t what it looks like...!”

Miguel squeaked and stepped back. Something about this skeleton wasn’t right. A skeleton with wings? Why did this skeleton know him? Why was that guy turning… green? Growing a snout? Getting on all fours!? The kid was about to scream, but the scarlet god covered his mouth with his hand.

“Please don’t scream. Stay calm, alright?” Xochi looked back. “Pepita, are you ready?” Simón, now Pepita, let out a pained noise. Xochi released Miguel slowly, then turned his attention to the winged jaguar. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have foreseen this, but I didn’t.”

Miguel felt his throat go dry. His shaky hands found the wall, the only support that gave him some sense of reality right now. “Xochi… What… what’s going on…?”

“I guess there’s no point in hiding it, right Pepita?” Xochi glanced back at the alebrije, who huffed and nodded. The deity walked up to the child and put a hand on the wall of the wagon, cornering him. “Listen up, Rivera… I’ll tell you if you keep your mouth zipped about this. You can’t say a word - especially to Mamá Imelda.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “If you slip - I’ll throw you in a pit of lava. Got it?”

“G-got it.” Miguel nodded. Usually he wouldn’t give in so easily, but something in Xochi’s voice let him know he meant every word. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Bien.” Xochi pulled back and crossed his arms. “Alebrijes are regular skeletons who have been recruited to become secret agents: spirit guides to the person they wish to protect. Usually they’re connected to their ward by family or friendship connections. Pepita is…” He gave a quick look to the jaguar, who closed their eyes. “...your Mamá Imelda’s father.”

Miguel’s eyes went wide. “Justice Jaguar.” Of course. It was so obvious now; he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed the parallels before. The same eyes. The same mask. The same fierceness, bravery and affection. The child walked carefully toward Pepita and hugged her. The jaguar leaned easily into his touch and closed her eyes. “It’s you. It was you all along…” He pulled back a little and cocked his head. “Even if Mamá Imelda didn’t follow what you had planned for her… you stayed by her side…”

He thought of his parents for a moment. His papá couldn’t sing or play an instrument, but he had written poems for his mother during the years they spent dating. And his mamá… Maybe she hadn’t expressed it until recently, but she _loved_ music. Both of them had supported his dream wholeheartedly as soon as the music ban was lifted. In a way, Pepita had done the same thing with Mamá Imelda, but…

“Does she know who Pepita is in reality?” Miguel released the jaguar and looked up to Xochi, a shadow of concern crossing over his brown eyes.

“Neither Imelda or the twins know. I doubt they would let their father get close any longer if they knew.” Xochi answered, putting his hands in his pants pockets. “You better keep your mouth zipped.”

“Sí… supongo…” The child sighed and looked to the other alebrijes. Dante walked up to him and snuggled his side. Miguel petted gently his head. “To think all of them are… people. Who are you, Dante?”

The xolo whined and nuzzled the guitar Miguel carried on his back; then looked up to Xochi.

The god shook his head. “Dante, I can't… Wards shouldn’t know the name of the soul guiding them, you know that.” He explained, as he picked up Pablo, Cheque and Lucinda into his arms. “It could create issues to the alebrijes and their work. Miguel, all you need to know is that Dante cares a great deal for you. Trust him. He’ll protect you, no matter what happens.”

“That’s good to know.” Miguel smiled weakly. “You’re such a good boy, Dante.” He hugged the xolo, who cuddled up to him.

It was then when Héctor appeared at the door. He beckoned the children to follow him. “Miguel, Xochi, we gotta go. We just arrived at the Cave of Souls.”

* * *

 

The conjoined Forgotten-Cursed train had arrived at its last stop before the rails split in two. Imelda realized that the last few curves she had experienced during the ride weren't the usual incline of the train, but were caused by a spiral railway that had been built around this baroque-engraved mountain.

As she got off the train, Imelda could see a stone path that connected the station to a giant skull sculpture in the middle of the plain. Two massive snake heads framed either side of the skull. To top it off, everything was illuminated by its glowing red eyes that, though unseeing, followed every movement before it.

“This place is giving me the creeps…” she muttered. “Am I supposed to go back to the train, or is there some faster route from here?” She asked to Itchpo.

The young goddess was wearing one of the Adelita’s sombreros. She lifted it and smiled to her. “You could take the train, but mainly for Pepita’s comfort, I think you should use the magic waterfalls to go to the Land of the Cursed. The end of the ride is… awfully hot.”

“Alright, we can do that.” Imelda caressed her alebrije’s head. “I’d rather have Pepita fly on her own than being cramped in a train anyway. Manolo, how is Rayo doing?”

The musical bullfighter was the last helping his bull alebrije get off the train. “Looks like he’s doing well so far. Good boy, Rayo.” He coaxed him to move with some pets; then he jumped on his back. He could mount him as if it was a horse! To think her own music ban had been keeping her away from such talented cousin… it made her feel ashamed of herself.

“Sabes, I think I’ve been here before…” Manolo took out the two swords he carried on his back. “I… I have the feeling something dangerous is going to happen…”

Xochi gently patted his arm. “That is true. You were here before . You faced the Cave Guardian and its challenge. But times have changed since, so don't worry. Now the Guardian can tell the difference between good and evil. He won’t make you go through the maze again.”

“There is a maze here?” Miguel clapped his hands. “That sounds fun!”

“I wonder if you’d still think the same when the stone marbles of the maze began to chase you…” Xochi chuckled in amusement. Itchpo made a fake-cough, and when he turned to face her, she was frowning. He raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I was joking. Let’s get down to business. Itchpo, wanna do the honors?”

“Sure.” Itchpo returned the hat to Scardelita, then touched one of the teeth of the giant skull. “Gran Guardián, it’s us, Itchpo and Xochi, daughter and son to La Muerte and Xibalba. Please open up. These amigos, the Riveras, need to talk with my uncle, the Candle Maker.”

“ _ARE THEY WORTHY?_ ” A deep and booming voice came from the skull.

Imelda gasped in surprise. At the same time, Miguel clung to Héctor’s arm. “Papá Héctor…?”

She felt a warm sensation spread into her ribcage at the image of Héctor pulling Miguel close. “Stay calm.”

Itchpo nodded to reinforce her statement. “Sí.” The marigold goddess looked back at Miguel and the rest of his family with a smile on her face. “They are worthy. There is warmth and good will in their hearts, I can feel it.” She gave a friendly pat to the spot she was touching. “All they want is to bring their Coco home.”

A moment of silence was followed by the rumble of rocks in motion.

“ _YOU MAY ENTER_.”

Imelda’s eyes went wide when she saw the giant skull open its mouth. There were stairs inside it, illuminated by a green light.

Itchpo turned to face the Riveras and clapped her hands. “Well, the Guardian allows us to pass.” She ran to Miguel and took his hand, leading him inside. “Vamos, it’s this way!”

* * *

 

It seemed that verdant light intended to intimidate anyone at the entrance of the cave. Past the stone stairs there was nothing but darkness, mist and stalagmites.

Xochi raised one hand to draw everyone's attention. “Watch out, there might be pud-”

Héctor made a girlish shriek at that exact moment. "I stepped on something wet!" He lifted his foot and groaned. "My shoes!"

“...puddles.” Xochi facepalmed and sighed.

“Don’t worry, Héctor, they’ll dry up.” Imelda’s touch felt comforting on his shoulder.

That would have been enough to calm him down… if it wasn’t for the puddle emitting a blue light, and the water began to go upward, twirling in a small waterspout. Héctor squeaked and hugged his wife. “What’s that?!”

“HOW RUDE!” A bratty voice came out of the whirlwind. Finally the water fell to the ground, revealing a brunette girl in a blue dress decorated with glitter spots. The soul markings upon her white sugar skin showed water droplets and stylized waterfalls and rivers. “I am not a **WHAT**! I’m a goddess!”

“Aw!” Héctor couldn’t help but melt. With her short height and her childish voice, she seemed way younger than the godly twins. “You’re so adorable!”

“I’m dangerous! FEAR ME!” The little goddess opened her arms, but she could hardly impress anyone with her oversized sleeves and her small size. She looked like she was pretending to play ghost, actually.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in magazines…” Óscar cocked his head. “Maybe you’re a very young one? Otherwise I’d remember your name.”

“Or maybe we know but we just forgot…” Felipe commented, backing up his brother.

The child in blue pouted, and her cheeks grew round as pan dulce. A sparkly white light shone in her hand. “I’ll make you remember! SALT FOR YOU! SALT FOR YOU! AND SALT FOR YOU!” In the blink of an eye, she threw several balls of salt at the Rivera men. None could avoid her sneak attack.

“Aarrgghh! My glasses!” Felipe screamed, taking them off. “I think she broke them!”

Héctor covered his eyes and cried out in agony. “My poor eyes!”

“Papá Héctor!” Miguel gasped and turned to the godly twins, who were… laughing? “What are you doing, you two!? Help us!” His words got them to stop. “This salt demon just attacked my family!”

“Pffff… ‘Salt demon’ indeed… hahahaha!” Xochi burst into laughter again.

“Pf… Hahahaha!” Itchpo laughed as well, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Sorry, Miguel, it's just funny because she is…”

“HUIXT! Leave them alone!”

A thick voice interrupted them. Héctor took out his eyes to clean them quickly, and when he put them back on, a giant man made of wax stood in front of them. He wore tattoos on his arms, a large bead necklace and a noticeable beard made of fluffy white clouds. His eyes widened.

He had seen this man before - and from the looks in everyone's faces, it seemed he wasn't the only one with that gut feeling. But he couldn't remember when...

The mischievous goddess made a military salute to the deity that towered over her. “Tío Candle Maker! Salt attacks have landed successfully, señor!”

“Ay Santa Chihuahua…” The Candle Maker pinched the bridge of his nose, then touched her shoulder. “My little puddle, I already told you. If the Cave Guardian says someone can come in, what do we do?”

“We greet them politely, lo sé…” Huixt huffed and pointed at the skeletons right in front of them. “But they are Riveras! You know, ‘the scourge of the gods’! And my silly primos just let them in like nothing!!” She pouted.

“... ‘ _Scourge of the gods_ ’? Are you serious?” Imelda echoed, an unreadable grimace on her face.

Héctor shook his head and sighed, it was better to focus in the present. He touched Xochi’s shoulder. “Primos, as in, _real_ primos? So you're related?”

Xochi was going to answer, when the 'salt demon’ stepped forward, smirking. “That's right.” She put her hands on her hips, striking a pose. “I'm Huixtocihuatl, goddess of salt, daughter to La Noche and El Chamuco! Mortals quiver before me!”

“To voice that rigmarole of a name without stuttering is quite the feat…”, Miguel admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “Should I be worried?”  

“Don’t worry, she’s actually harmless. Her mother is our mom’s twin sister.” Itchpo explained to the Riveras; then turned to the wax deity and practically flew into his arms. “Now we’ve done the presentations… Tío Candle Maker, it’s been so long!”

“Fifty-six years is a long time, Ichpōchtli.” The Candle Maker hugged her back, then pulled Xochi into the hug as well. “C’mon! You too, huerco canijo!” He gave the twins a loving squeeze before releasing them. “Not so little anymore, though. You two have grown a bunch in the last decades!” He looked up, and his expression softened even more. “Oh, hola to you too, Pepita, Rayo! And I see Manolo is over there too! Hi, Manolo! Qué onda wey? So good to see you again!”

“You know me…?” The bullfighter mariachi seemed confused.

“Sí, but it seems you forgot, like everyone else. That’s a pity.” The Candle Maker let out a disappointed huff. Then he smiled to the kids. “At least I got to reunite with mis sobrinos!”

Xochi’s soul markings went red in embarrassment. He broke out of the hug and dusted off his clothes.  “Gracias for such a warm welcome, tío, but… we didn't come here exactly for a family reunion.”

“Xochi is right. We came to guide the Riveras to the Lands of the Cursed and the Forgotten.” Itchpo rushed to explain, as she turned toward them. “You see… Sartana has returned. She kidnapped their beloved daughter, Coco.”

Héctor noticed how the Candle Maker’s expression shifted from a cheerful smile to a somber grimace of concern in the matter of seconds. “Sartana is here?!”, he gasped. “This shouldn’t be happening. No no no no… We need to check the Book! Right now!” He clapped his hands once, and a skull-shaped platform appeared under their feet.

As the platform began to move, Héctor’s arms pulled Imelda closer to him. “What's happening?!” While he was scared, his wife's touch never failed to calm him down.

Imelda held onto him for support as well, a mix of fear and nervousness in her face. “We’ll know soon… I hope...”

She was right. The platform ascended to the main chamber of the cave, an immense grotto filled with millions of candles, giant doors and waterfalls that seemed to pour into an infinite great light. The Candle Maker opened his arms, very proud of his home.

“Welcome to the Cave of Souls! The origin of all paths, the birth of all lands! Usually I’d show you around and the things we can do, but god issues take priority. Book! Book, where are you?”

Héctor saw a big, thick book appear out of nowhere. It was decorated with rich gold embellishments and a big heart on the cover. But the most incredible thing about it was that this book could fly and float in the air, as if it was a sentient creature.

“Wow, how can that book fly?” Scardelita asked, reaching to poke it. The book hit her hand with the cover. “Ow! You little--”

“¿Estás bien?” Óscar took her hand into his, then glared at the book. “What’s your problem?”

The book flew away from them and landed into the Candle Maker’s hands. The golden deity gently patted the covers, coaxing it to open and reveal its pages, filled with pictures and golden letters. “It can’t answer,” he said. “After all, it’s a book. Though not any book. This is the Book of Life, the great book of stories, where past, present and future collide… but there’s more than the eye meets. Book, I need to read the Book of Death.”

The Book quaked in fear and closed itself tightly. The Candle Maker sighed and knocked on the cover again. “I know you don’t like it and that doing such a thing might hurt you a little. Don't worry, it will be just a moment. Can you help us?”

The book flew from his hands and past the wax deity, stopping at the edge of the platform. If it wasn’t something too bizarre to think about, Héctor would think the book was actually… pouting?

Miguel frowned slightly. He tiptoed slowly toward the Book and touched the cover as if it was an injured animal. “We don’t want to hurt you, Book. But this is for my Mamá Coco. A dangerous goddess and an evil mariachi kidnapped her. Please, help us…”

The Book turned to Miguel. It opened up, landed in his hands and flicked the tip of one page, bending it as if it was giving him a thumbs up.

“... Gracias.” Miguel smiled and walked to the Candle Maker. “Here.”

“Why, thank you Miguelito.” The deity picked up the Book and messed gently with Miguel's hair. “Let's do it.”

The Candle Maker twirled the Book over itself and held it with the heart on the cover upside down. A dark hurricane of red clouds flooded from the Book’s pages and the Cave of Souls began to tremble. The rock roof over their heads opened, revealing a dark, partly cloudy sky. Itchpo squeaked and held onto Miguel's arm, who was trying to hold onto Dante. Xochi tried to protect Huixt and the chihuahua alebrijes with his body. Pepita and Rayo tried to shield their owners with their bodies and Héctor hugged Imelda as tightly as he could, just like the twins did with their girlfriends.

When the wind passed, Héctor realised all the consumed candles of the cave were shining with different colors: orange, blue, and red. All of them floated around the Candle Maker, who held the Book into his hands… except it didn't look like the Book of Life anymore. The brown and gold covers has turned black and red, and the heart on the cover was framed by thorns and marigold petals.

“The Book of Death…” Xochi uttered, reverence in his voice. “I didn't know it was that easy to activate.”

“I thought it was just a tale to scare us when we were little. It's the first time I see it…” Itchpo mumbled, her eyes wide open.

“There is some truth in all tales and this one is very real.” The Candle Maker frowned when he opened the book. Héctor noticed the god’s fingertips turned black the moment he touched it. “It's good you haven't seen the Book of Death before. The Ancients cursed it during the Invasion; as ultimate revenge if the Book was taken against our will.”

“The Invasion?” Imelda arched one bone ridge. “Do you mean…?”

“Of course he's talking about the Spanish invasion, señora Rivera. What else could it be?” Huixt shrugged. “It’s a nicer way to refer to La Noche Triste.”

“Huixt! We're not allowed to talk about it!” Itchpo scolded her. “It's rude!”

“The Ancients are dead and long time gone, prima. Why should we be afraid of gods that we know nothing of? Tío Candle Maker was the only one that survived to tell the story and he's un amor.” The blue salt goddess shrugged. “I doubt the old gods can hurt us.”

“They can’t… Except with the curse that they put on the Book. Last time it was used… it caused a lot of harm to two goddesses I used to know.” The Candle Maker flicked through the pages, a pained expression on his face. As he kept checking more and more pages, the darkness seemed to spread way up into his hand. “Mmh… This isn't making any sense.”

“Qué? What is it?” Óscar asked, stepping forward to get a better view.

“The Book of Death shows every curse, every death and every detail of the lives of the souls living across the Lands.” The wax god narrowed his eyes. “But I can't find Coco or Sartana… Where are you, girls…?”

“Try searching for Ernesto de la Cruz.” Héctor bit his bottom lip. “Sartana took him as well.”

The Candle Maker arched one eyebrow. “Why am not surprised…” He mumbled out loud, looking through the pages. “She used to be such a fan of his music.”

“A fan? En serio?” Imelda's eyes went wide.

“Pffff!” Miguel and Héctor snorted. The two of them covered their mouths, but some giggles still escaped the moment their gazes met.

Their reaction made Imelda chuckle. “Such an irony. Then she's another of my husband's groupies.”

“Oh no, no, not really. She was really fond of Ernesto. Her bedroom is full of his merch, I’ve seen it”, Xochi smirked and nudged Miguel. “What a nerd, uh?”

Miguel went pale and looked away. “S-sí, haha…”

Héctor suspected something in Xochi’s  words did hurt his great-great-grandson’s feelings, but he didn't want to address it in front of everyone. He’d rather do it when he had some time alone with him. He petted Miguel's shoulder and squeezed it to cheer him up. “Está bien, mijo. Está bien.” He looked up to the Candle Maker. “Any luck?”

“Nothing! It's like they vanished from the map! The only explanation is that they are moving through the lands without rulers. Like the Wastelands, The Forest of the Lost, the Emerald Fields or the Sea of Oblivion…”

“That's exactly what they've been doing.” Imelda groaned and put her hands on her head. “We’ll never find them like this!”

The Candle Maker let out a sigh. Suddenly, the Book of Death flicked several pages on its own and flew to the wax god’s face. “Oh! You got a clue!” He gasped and picked the book into his hands. Holding it open, the deity showed a beautiful painting of Sartana, Ernesto and Coco on a boat, talking to the blue queen, La Noche. “Look, guys! The Book found the last Land they were in… The Land of the Unknown.”

“Finally!” Héctor clenched his hands into victory fists. “Julio, Rosita and Victoria are on their way there! They can save Coco!”

“Not so fast, Héctor.” The Candle Maker twirled the Book over itself. The same wind returned and surrounded the extinguished candles, that ceased sparkling. At the same time, the brown and gold colors drove out the darkness of the Book; and the Sacred Heart of the cover was freed of the thorns choking it. The Book of Life had returned - and with it, the Candle Maker’s fingertips returned to normal. He released the Book, that began to float by his side. Letting out a sigh, the god turned to the Rivera patriarch. “The Book of Death only can provide information from the lands with a god ruler, because it’s connected to our life energy. The problem is… The lands Sartana is travelling through have no rulers. So it is highly likely they are no longer in the Land of the Unknown. La Noche was the last deity who saw them.”

“Well, then we stick to our original plan, right?” Scardelita supported her saber on her shoulder. “We go to the Lands of the Forgotten and Cursed, and check if Coco is in there.”

“Sí, that’s correct.” Héctor nodded in agreement. “That Sartana is pretty smart. She keeps getting ahead of us....”

A smug grin filled Xochi’s face. “Told you so, didn’t I?” Sartana got everything covered. She’s the smartest of us all.”

“But she’s still dangerous, Xochi!” Huixt reminded him, pouting.

The ancient god nodded in agreement. “Huixt is right. As much as you admire her wits, there’s no point into defending Sartana. She has done terrible things and she must be stopped… Nghhhh!” The Candlemaker shuddered and fell on one knee. Huixt, Xochi and Itchpo ran to his side.

“Tío!” Huixt held his face with her petite hands. “¿Estás bien?”

“What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?” Itchpo asked, picking one of his thick arms to help him up.

As if the Candle Maker’s sudden display of weakness wasn’t scary enough, Héctor noticed a flicker of gold on the sky… Right before he heard Miguel screaming.

“Miguel, what’s going on?!” He squeaked, rushing to check on his great-great-grandson.

“M-my hands!” Miguel raised them. His fingertips just began turning white, pristine bones. “Why is this happening?! I’m not cursed this time, am I?!”

“No, you’re not cursed, Miguel.” The Candle Maker managed to stand on his feet once again, helped by the godly children. “It’s the Veil between the Lands of the Dead and the Land of the Living becoming thinner. The twin goddesses, La Noche and La Muerte, kept the balance between the worlds. But…” He looked up to the sky.

The moon had turned red as blood, some blood droplets fell from the sky and Huixt let out a terrified gasp. “Mamá!”

“Someone injured La Noche.” Héctor noticed that the Candle Maker looked away, as if he was trying to soften his words. “Without her… the weight of both worlds rests on La Muerte’s shoulders. Yesterday I noticed she used a powerful spell to stop the flow of time in the living world, but... I fear that spell just broke.”

Itchpo gasped and shook her head. “No! Is she alright?!”

“Yes, for now… but she must be reaching to her limit.” He answered to her, then he turned to Miguel. “I’m sorry, chamaco… your clock just started ticking.”

“Ay, no…” Miguel stared at his bony fingertip. “So I only have until sunrise, right?”

The _clickety-tap, clickety-tap_ of Imelda’s boots interrupted their moment. Héctor almost felt sorry for Miguel, because his wife was glowering. Almost. He stepped aside, giving her room to voice her concerns.

“Miguel, you almost died once, and I’m not going through this all over again! You have to go home, now!” She turned around, gazing at the rest of her family. “Óscar! Felipe! Find some cempasúchil for his blessing!”

“Hum…” Óscar turned to Itchpo. Her wings were made of fresh marigold petals, one of those sure would work.

“Imelda, wait.” The Candle Maker stretched his arm and touched her clavicle. “We can’t send Miguel home just yet.”

“Why not? He’s just a kid! He shouldn’t be here in the first place!”

“Because… you guys can save Coco; but he’s the only one who can save Ernesto now.”

Héctor flinched at the mention of his old friend. He looked down, rubbing his phalanges, as if the friction would help him to understand such reasoning. Yet nothing came to mind. “I give up. I don’t understand.” he muttered, looking up the the deity. His voice, bitter with pain, choked up insults he’d rather censor in front of the kids. “Ernesto almost killed Miguel. _Twice_. There’s nothing Miguel can do when he is just that… heartless. He’s beyond any salvation.”

The Candle Maker shook his head. “Truth is, he still can be saved. Miguel did connect with Ernesto, just like you did. Something inside him is broken beyond repair, that’s why he was able to kill. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but… Héctor, you knew him. There was _good_ in him. That good is still there. Miguel might have a chance to reach it.”

Héctor looked away. “I…” _I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to save him. Why should I save the one who murdered me?_ The thought didn’t leave his skull, and the musician knew it hadn’t reached his nonexistent throat either.

And yet… the Candle Maker raised an eyebrow at him. But he didn’t say a word. He turned to Imelda instead. “I’ll open the gates to the Lands of the Unknown and the Cursed, but you gotta be careful. There’s more danger than meets the eye. Don’t let hatred guide your actions, or it will destroy you.”

“I’m ready. I’m going to save my daughter!” Imelda declared, very proud of herself. She turned to Héctor and hugged him. “This is where we part… again…”

“Never for long. Never again.” Héctor promised, and caressed her face. “Stay safe, yes?”

“Both the twins and Pepita will ensure I don’t kill someone for the second time.” She joked. Her smirk turned into a softer smile. “Make sure to come back to me after this, sí?”

“I will. Lo prometo.” Héctor cupped her face and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Imelda cocked her head and patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You take care of Miguel.”

Héctor nodded and released her. Maybe he didn’t need to worry. If someone could handle this, it was Imelda. He watched her beckon her brothers and the Adelitas to jump on Pepita’s back, then she turned to the Candle Maker. “The gate to the Land of the Cursed?”

“It’s this one.” The god raised one of his thick hands, and one of the walls opened, revealing a waterfall surrounded by smoky columns. “About that place...”

“That’s all I need. There’s no more time to waste!” Imelda jumped on her alebrije’s neck and leaned forward. Pepita started to run and opened her wings. “To the Land of of the Cursed! Gerónimoooooooooooo!!!!!!”

“Wait, Imelda!”  The Candle Maker raised his hand to stop them, but Pepita jumped in the waterfall and disappeared.

The Candle Maker hurried to the edge and put his hands on his hips. “Always in such a hurry! And here I was trying to warn them…”

“Warn them about what?!” Héctor felt something sink into his ribcage.

“Oh, nothing! Don’t worry, Héctor! She’ll be fine, I think.” The god turned to them with a fake smile on his face. It was so obvious, that Héctor was tempted to call him out on it.

"You think?!!" But he couldn’t go after Imelda now - there was no time. “ **She better be**. Let’s get this over with.” He crossed his arms. “We gotta go to the Land of the Forgotten. Coco needs us.”

* * *

 

Opening the window was easy, but going to the outside world was a different story.

Itzpa leaned on the rails of her balcony. She opened and closed her eyes. Even if she couldn’t see anything, the change of light was striking enough to confuse her. It would be easier to move with her eyes closed. Feeling the rail with her hands, the butterfly goddess realized her balcony had an opening to her right, which was connected with stairs. Fortunately, the rail followed them until the garden.

That smell of marigolds was stronger, but there was a different smell as well. Something familiar, like… carnations? That scent called to her, like a siren song without words. One step, and another, and another-

The rail came to an end and she let out an involuntary gasp. Now she was standing on her own, she could feel dry leaves under her feet. Though she couldn’t feel if they were warm or not, and that was really strange. Just like the song that began to resonate in her mind. She blinked again, and she’d swear she could see someone leaning against one of the trees. But, how could it be? Was she dreaming? She bit her bottom lip and stepped forward. This was no dream. It was… more like a memory. A memory of a tree, a beautiful girl in red and black garb and a tender lullaby on the strings of her guitar. And she sang...

 _“En el jardín hay algo, que te está esperando._ _  
_ _Tal cual lo dejaste. Bocabajo quedó.”_

Itzpa knelt on the ground, her eyes glued to infinity. She knew words carried magic. Maybe this song was magic, because she could remember the lyrics, too? Her wings fluttered as the goddess joined the imaginary woman in her melancholic melody.

 _“Y cuando lo encuentres, se habrá descolorado._ _  
_ _Más claro es el reverso, si lo haces girar.”_

Itzpa felt tears falling down her cheeks. She got up and stretched one arm, though she couldn’t feel anything on her fingertips anymore. There was a tree. That tree… Two little girls ran around it. Red. Purple. A golden guitar. Obsidian wings. Two dolls - and one was placed in a hole of the tree. A hole. A  ** _secret_**.

_“Todo está, tal cual lo dejaste."_

She had to find that tree. She had to find it, no matter how many times she kept stumbling on rocks, no matter how many cuts her arms received when she shielded her face from the impact. That tree had to be there. _She had to touch it_. When the little girls vanished, Itzpa could see the woman again. Her song kept calling her.

_"Todo está siempre cambiando.”_

Itzpa stumbled over another rock, but this time, her body didn’t meet the ground. There was a tree, holding her up. A tree with a hole. The goddess reached tentatively inside it, and her fingers found something soft. Something with a dress, legs, arms and a little smile.

A doll.

Thought not any doll. This was an special one, because…

_“Ligeramente…”_

The butterfly deity gasped as a long lost memory returned to her. Her toddler self was sitting on the grass, hugging this same doll, and her wings fluttered with the breeze. The image of her older sister was reflected in her eyes. A loving human-like goddess, whose golden soul markings sparkled in the dusk of another garden, a long, long time ago.

_“...De día y de noche,  
Un poco más…” _

Itzpa fell to her knees. She could remember. It seemed this doll was imbued of memory magic, strong enough to pierce through her curse.

 _“...Pero todo está._ ”

                                                                                        She finished and pulled the doll close to her chest. Sartana… This was Sartana’s doll, wasn’t it? She was not a threat. Her sister loved her, always did. Itzpa smiled through the tears. All the bruises and cuts were worthwhile in exchange for such a precious memory of their childhood…

 

Suddenly, the garden went silent.

Itzpa raised her head, and heard steps. Two people, walking slowly… until they stopped in front of her, blocking the light.

“Well hello, mi pequeña mariposa.” It was a man’s voice, with a very posh tone, but Itzpa couldn’t make out much of his identity. Getting back one single memory wouldn’t restore the rest, apparently. “Did you have fun? I think you came out of your cocoon too soon, querida.”

“I don’t understand…” She cocked her head when she heard a click of fingers. “Who are you… AAAHHH!!” A strong pull by the arm forced her to stand up. The shock made her drop the doll.

“I’m sorry.” A rougher voice spoke, close to her ear. Another man. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

“M-my doll!” She squealed, trying, instinctively looking down to find it - but in her eyes there was nothing but darkness. “P-por favor… can you give me my doll?”

“¿Oh, esto? You won’t need it anymore, hermana mía...”

The sound of his shoe kicking the doll beyond her reach made her wince. These people were up to no good. 

For the first time in decades, Itzpa began to tremble in fear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Here's the newest chapter! The Riveras finally divide their ways - Imelda and the twins will go to the Land of the Cursed, Héctor and Miguel to the Land of the Forgotten... and the reunion of Julio and Coco is coming closer!
> 
> Huixt is based in the Aztec goddess Huixtocihuatl and the concepts designed by my friend Morskijiez. Thank you for your awesome ideas, dear!! 
> 
> La Noche Triste ("The Night of Sorrows", literally "The Sad Night") on June 30, 1520, was an important event during the Spanish conquest of Mexico, wherein Hernán Cortés and his invading army of Spanish conquistadors and native allies were driven out of the Mexican capital at Tenochtitlan following the death of the Aztec king Moctezuma II, who had been held hostage by the Spaniards. You can read more about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Noche_Triste  
> The number of casualties on both Spaniard and Aztec sides was so big, that most of the Ancient Gods disappeared (read: died) because all their believers died without passing down their story. (But Aura, what about La Muerte and Xibalba's children?, you might ask. There's an explanation for that, and we'll get to it... eventually! Stay tuned for more!)
> 
> "Gerónimoooooo!!" is a US Army airborne exclamation occasionally used by jumping skydivers or, more generally, anyone about to jump from a great height, or as a general exclamation of exhilaration. The cry originated in the United States in the 1940's, and it was mentioned in several movies, TV shows and radio stations during the 50's and 60's. For further information on this, check the following links:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geronimo_(exclamation)  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geronimo
> 
> The song that Goddess!Sartana and Itzpa sing is Adventure Time's "Everything Stays", concretely this version by ilonqueen: https://youtu.be/VmBWoC2E9v4  
> In this story, Sartana wrote "Everything Stays" as a lullaby for her little sister. She placed a spell on her doll, so Itzpa never forgot about the love they shared, no matter how far they were from each other. Here's the lyrics in English:  
> https://youtu.be/pozDLjFUVbM
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Bien - good  
> Sí, supongo - Yes, I guess  
> Sabes? - You know?  
> Gran Guardián - Great Guardian  
> amigos - friends  
> Vamos! - Let's go!  
> Lo sé - I know  
> primos - cousins  
> huerco canijo - little grumpy boy  
> hola - hello  
> gracias - thank you  
> ¿Estás bien? - Are you OK?  
> La Noche Triste - The Sad Night (see note above)  
> prima - cousin (girl)  
> ser un amor - this expression means that a person is very sweet, caring and loving  
> Qué? - What?  
> En serio? - Are you serious?  
> Está bien, mijo - It's alright, my son  
> tío - uncle  
> chamaco - child  
> cempasúchil - marigold  
> Lo prometo - I promise  
> mi pequeña mariposa - my little butterfly  
> querida - dear  
> por favor - please  
> ¿Oh, esto? - Oh, this?  
> hermana mía - sister of mine


	24. Disaster Drill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

Quetzal's serpentine form obscured the sun for a moment before he left the Land of the Cursed for good. Once the lava deity could sense that Xibalba had abandoned his kingdom, El Chamuco rushed back to his private chambers, releasing his butterfly knife’s true form: a dark obsidian trident. Using his weapon, the deity created a circle of fire in mid-air, and a blurry image appeared within it. The visage soon gained clarity, revealing the scene of an elegant osprey flying in the sky. The god’s expression softened.

“Opocht.” El Chamuco called quietly.

The osprey emitted a cheerful cry and landed on a branch of a nearby tree. Once there, the bird shapeshifted in a ball of blue and red lights and became a young man with thick brown dreadlocks, coffee-colored skin and round blue eyes with matching soul markings. “Padre! So good to see you! What's crackin’ in the spirit world? Is the Land of the Cursed still as cursed?”

Under different circumstances El Chamuco would laugh at his son’s jokes, but not now. “You're still in Asia?”

“...Sí.” The shapeshifter leaned forward, frowning. “I already told you. The gods of this side of the world are struggling. Humans keep destroying their forests--”

“I'm not against it, mijo!” The lava god interrupted him. “But we need you here. Your uncle Xibalba and your cousin Quetzal went on their way to find you, but given how dire the situation is, I don't know if I can trust your uncle to keep his word. Everyone is in danger now...” El Chamuco's grip on his trident tightened.

Opocht gasped audibly. “What happened, Padre?”

El Chamuco bit his bottom lip and looked down. “Something happened to your mother. I suspect she's injured, but I can't help her. You know how it is, I can't leave the Land of the Cursed without leaving another deity in charge. Can you go check on her in my place?”

“I shall. I’m on my way.” The boy jumped from the tree, and his body vanished into light. When the god saw the osprey taking off once again, he sighed and dissolved the magic window with his hand. He walked to the balcony of his room and looked to the dark sky over his head. The blood rain hadn’t stopped yet…

“Luna…”

* * *

 

The dark clouds were following their steps since they had left the Land of the Unknown. The previous night was the last time Sartana had seen a clear sky. On a normal day, the moon would complete its journey across the sky and leave room for the sun once the night was over - but not today. The moon remained in the very same spot in the sky where it had stood at the moment when she had attacked her aunt; grim and reproachful in its bloodshot visage. At least the sand of the desert still warmed her feet, barely covered by her worn-out black and red pumps.

With her guitar and the Moon Staff on her back, she sighed and hugged herself with one arm. She only could do that much, given her other hand was taken by Ernesto’s. Her soul markings lit up at the thought and she giggled - something that seemed to surprise him.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, arching one brow ridge.

“You haven’t let go of my hand since we left the Forest of the Lost.” She pointed out, a shy smile under her breath.

“Heh.” A smirk appeared on his face. “What can I say? I’m a man that keeps his promises. I promised I wouldn’t let you go, and I’m doing exactly that.” Ernesto chuckled and squeezed her hand.

Was he aware of the effect such closeness brought upon her body? The heat soaking her ribcage spread through her body in the worst kind of way, making her so bubbly and happy that it was too easy to forget her mission. Sartana shook her head and smiled. “Looks like I’ve got myself a knight in a mariachi suit.” She grinned and squeezed his hand in return. “Too bad I’m not a helpless damsel you can rescue.”

“...I did that back at the forest, but I know what you mean.” Ernesto gave her a playful nudge.

“Eek!” Sartana nearly stumbled with his push, but her champion caught her by the waist. She felt her swirls burning at his touch. One thing was the feeling of his hands on her when he played her guitar… And another was when he touched her directly. She wasn’t exactly against it, but… She needed to stay firm.

The banished goddess straightened and dusted off her skirt. “As fun as this is, we should keep things professional. These are the Wastelands… which means the Land of the Cursed is way too close for comfort. If any of the agents of the Ghost Patrol finds us, we’ll never make it to the Land of the Blessed.”

Ernesto released her just for a moment - loyal to his word, he took her hand as soon as she was done. “Could you tell me more about that Land?”

She smiled at his curiosity. That was one trait of him that made him even sweeter in her eyes. “It’s a mysterious place, for sure. There are no records about it in the Land of the Remembered... I learned about it during my exile in the Land of the Living, while I was doing research on the magic of the Ancients. Apparently, the Land of the Blessed is the highest level of the Lands of the Dead. The Ancient Gods called it Ōmeyōcān, "the place of duality", though I’m not sure what that means. All I know is that this place is ruled by a strange deity, Ometeotl the Creator, who can grant **_any_** **_wish_**. I suspect he’s something like the Candle Maker... another of the Ancients that survived to La Noche Triste.”

Ernesto’s eyes widened. “Wait, wasn’t that when the Spaniards…?”

“Rescued some members of their troops, but at a very high cost? Sí, eso es.” Sartana looked away. “So many gods perished that night. What had always existed, vanished in a instant. Nothing is eternal, sadly. Even gods can die, if the civilization under their protection burns to ashes.” Feeling a little light-headed, Sartana leaned against her partner in crime. “Ugh…”

“Sartana!” Ernesto lifted his hands to help her up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m an old hag.” The goddess tried to joke, but her champion wasn’t buying it. She sighed and rubbed her face, seeing she had no way out of this. “Lo siento… I’m tired. I’m so tired. I could use the Moon Staff to feed on the energy of the Living, but I worry what might happen if I use it. The weather changes in this world might have hurt people that aren’t part of this. Truth be told, I didn’t want this to happen...”

* * *

 

Ernesto could feel his nonexistent heart melting. Even if she was framed as the worst villain of the country, the fact that she didn’t want to hurt more people than necessary was something endearing to him. Plus her slow pace and her sagged shoulders confirmed how exhausted she was. The solution was obvious: when he was the less tired out of the two, he had to take action.

In the blink of an eye, he scooped her up into his arms, ready to carry her like a bride.

“Eek! Put me down, you idiota! I can walk…!”

The blush on her markings made him grin. “No, you can’t. You’re tired, and so am I. But it's okay. We can take our time to…”

Anita, the chihuahua alebrije, began to bark loudly. Ernesto looked down to her, surprised. “Qué onda, amiguita…? Oh!” He understood the moment he looked up. “There's a town over there, on that hill! Mira!” He pointed to a nearby frontier town, similar to the ones where he had performed in the early years of his solo career. Small houses, white walls, strings of papel picado here and there…

Sartana chuckled and patted his chest with a smirk. “Well done, you two. I did well when I chose you. I knew you'd end up coming in handy.”

Ernesto chuckled and nuzzled her cheek. “Oh, and the fact I was your teenage dream has nothing to do with it, right?” He joked, as he made his way to the village.

“Pfffff! Serás menso!” She pushed his face away from her, but her claws couldn't hide the glow on her face. “I chose you because… you're as bad as me?”

“What a bad liar you are.” Ernesto laughed and shook his head.

“One point more for me.” Sartana pursed her lips and reached to caress gently his new soul markings. She was still in awe at how the green plant patterns so neatly covered the place where shattered musical markings once sat. “I don't feel the pain of your cracks anymore. Did my spell work that well?”

“It did.” Ernesto leaned into her touch, very pleased with it. “My ribs, my broken bones… You fixed everything. Gracias, really. Wish I could repay it somehow…”

“If you could find me something so we didn’t have to walk, it would be great,” Sartana suggested. “I miss the horse carriage I had in the Land of the Living…”

A horse carriage was something he didn’t expect Sartana to drive, but Ernesto already knew that the goddess was full of surprises. “What happened to it?” He held Sartana carefully with one arm, and used the other to beckon Anita to follow them.

“Let's say one can't just smuggle a horse carriage through the Marigold Bridge. Not even on Día de Muertos.” She rolled her eyes.

As they entered the outskirts of the town, some posters on the walls captured Ernesto’s attention. He put Sartana down to grab one and showed it to her. “Maybe not a carriage… but perhaps we can win the next best thing.”

“Win?” Sartana picked up the piece of paper. Then her eyes turned to him, full of uncertainty. “A musical contest in a bar?”

“Yes, but it isn’t just that. Look at the prize.” He pointed to the second picture.

“Two horses could come very in handy now…” Something struck Sartana right then. She gasped in surprise. “Wait, isn’t this your horse?! The one you used in your movies…”

Ernesto nodded. “Sí! That’s my Dante. We gotta save him, right Anita?”

The chihuahua barked in agreement, wagging her tail excitedly.

* * *

 

Opocht crossed over the ancient Tree of Life located on the docks of the Land of the Unknown. He raised his arms, ready to shapeshift into his osprey form... when the wind knocked him off and sent him flying. A rough landing on a snowbank punched his breath out of his body.

He coughed and looked up. Now he could see how bad things had gotten since he left. A hurricane was shaking the foundations of his homeland: a dark snowstorm clouded the sky, bloody icicles covered the pyramids, and the strongest winds he had ever witnessed blew out of control. Where was his mother?! She would never allow the weather to go this crazy! He shapeshifted into an armadillo and turned into a small ball. It was easier to roll all the way down the hill and through the empty city. Where did everyone go?!

Maybe his old friends could help him… Or maybe not. Chel's stall was a complete wreck, and there was no trace of her, nor of Tulio and Miguel. He took shelter behind one of the walls of the stall that had survived the disaster; then shapeshifted back into his human form again.

“Tulio! Miguel! Chel! Where are you?!”

It was then when a bony blue hand tugged at his sleeve. It was Chel, who was forming a human chain with her husbands so the wind didn't sweep them away. “Opocht!! Over here! It isn't safe to stay outside!”

She pulled him toward what was left of their home with the help of her husbands and closed the door to block the wind. It was a humble hut, just four walls of sugar canes tied with reeds and a straw roof. Opocht could see that these three were trying to protect him from the typhoon, but he couldn't stay. Not for long, anyway.

“I need to find my Mamá! What is happening?!” the curly haired deity asked, helping Chel to keep the door closed.

“The banished princess, Sartana, that’s exactly what happened!” Tulio explained, as he helped Miguel to hold another of the walls; while their alebrije horse, Altivo, held another all by himself. In this family, the winged horse covered in silver and gold markings was the strongest out of the four - but even counting with their guardian alebrije’s help, the hut was about to crumble. They weren't enough to hold it up.

“Sartana?” Opocht’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t heard of his cousin in a long, long time. Last time was the day of her judgement, more than half a century ago...

“She stole the Moon Staff and the weather has gone loco ever since!” Miguel replied. His foot slipped and he fell to the ground. He got up again, his face was covered in mud. “I'm fine, don’t worry!!”

Opocht bit his bottom lip. Without her weapon his mother was practically powerless. He had to check on her, but he couldn’t abandon his friends just yet.

“I must find my mother,” he whispered, summoning his weapon. An elegant blue and silver harpoon appeared in his left hand and he hit the walls of the cabin with it. **_“TLAPATIA!”_ **

In the blink of an eye, the walls of the hut grew new roots and  stood straighter than ever. Opocht smiled at them, then kicked the door and ran outside. He could hear Miguel, Chel and Tulio call for him to come back, but he had a better idea. The god in blue raised the harpoon over his head and twirled it with one hand.

“ **_EJEKATSAKUILI!!_ ** ”, he chanted, right before he threw the weapon to the wind. The harpoon cut through it, creating a clean path. Opocht got on his fours and shapeshifted into a Mexican grizzly bear with blue soul markings and a grayish-white coat, grizzled from the darker color of the underfur. He roared to drive any obstacle out of his way, running as fast as he could. He had to reach La Pirámide Nocturna. He had to!

* * *

 

Sartana finished tying the ribbon around her hat and hung it from her neck. Her hair, now loose and free, danced with the breeze. She turned to check on Ernesto, who washed his hair in a water barrel they found in one of the dark alleys of the town. With so little time and no allies to help them in, creating a disguise was quite the feat - but not an impossible one. She just hoped the people of the bar didn’t recognize her soul markings, or Ernesto’s cleft chin. “Are you ready to go? I can see the queue to register already.”

“How many people are we going to beat?” Ernesto asked, taking a look at her guitar. “I’m not sure if your guitar will be able to endure another performance…”

“Shh! Ernesto, calla!” She silenced him with a finger on his lips. “I’m trying to listen!”

She noticed a skeleton in a black suit walking out of the bar. He went to the man in the registration queue, currently alone at the moment, and began to whisper in the place where his ear would be. Nothing that Sartana could miss, one of the most basic abilities of a goddess like herself was to be able to listen to everything, no matter how low.  

“So, has our surprise duet arrived already?” The suited man asked.

The man at the registry shook his head. “Not yet that I know. What are their names, again?”

“Emiliano and Sara. They’re a married couple. Apparently they will do their great debut in our contest. They come, they sing, we give them the horses... No matter how many people joined the contest, everything is arranged already. They already paid for their victory.” He took out some notes from his pocket and showed it to the other man.

“Praise the gods the mail service still works over here. Too bad we don’t know what are they like… they’re probably covering their backs. I’ll keep an eye for them.”

“Good. We’ll start the contest as soon as they arrive. See you later.” With those words, the man returned to the bar.

Sartana let out a nervous sigh. She turned to her partner in crime. “Ernesto, how are your acting skills?”

He raised one brow ridge. “I’ve played several roles in movies post-mortem, the last one two years ago, so I’d say pretty good”, he answered with a smirk.

She grinned in return. “Good, because we’re going to need them. Here's the plan…”

* * *

 

Waiting a few minutes to join the queue was a good idea, if only just to steal a proper mariachi suit from the real debut artists. Ernesto was really proud of her: even if her final goals were noble, she was still willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve it.

“It's nothing personal, guys,” Sartana whispered, using a bit of her magic to ensure the cloth gags wouldn't come off too soon.

The mariachi showed his best smile to the couple before locking the door of the barn. “Sí, we just couldn't show up without the proper outfits.”

All tied up, Sara and Emiliano couldn’t protest, only struggle against the ropes on their wrists and legs. As if tying them up together wasn’t enough...

Ernesto put on his new mariachi suit. His new suit was soft orange, like fresh marigolds cut in the early morning. Once he put on the hat, he turned to Sartana, smiling. “How do I look? Muy guapo, eh?”

She walked around him and smirked. “You look like a mariachi who escaped from prison, tan chaparrito as always. Or a tiny tangerine.”

He pouted a bit, faking a hurt look. “For the last time, I am not sma - oh.” His words fell quiet when she kissed his cheekbone, frozen by the fire within his soul markings.

When Sartana pulled back, there was a sad smile on her face. “Let's see how we play pretend to be married.”

“You can bet we'll ace it. Just-” Ernesto gently took her clawed hand into his, then linked it around his arm. “Stay close to me, sí?”

“Siempre,” she whispered, in a tone that sounded almost like a promise.

“Good.” He nodded and smiled in return. He offered a hand to Anita so she could jump into his arms. The chihuahua was more than happy to do so. “Vamos allá.”

Ernesto guided Sartana and Anita to the queue. It was a short one fortunately: a couple of opera singers, a band of mariachi triplets, a boy that was doing some odd noises with his mouth, and a blue haired woman with her son and their iguana alebrije.

When the little family left the queue, Ernesto and Sartana moved forward to greet the clerk standing behind a small podium. The musician could tell the goddess was nervous, given the way she squeezed his arm.

“Names?” His voice was dry and disinterested.

“I'm Emiliano,” Ernesto answered, slipping into his role like a glove. “And this stunning belleza by my side is my wife, Sara.”

The registry skeleton raised his brow ridges. “Oh, it's you! No wonder why you guys were so cautious about your looks, your costumes are impressive. You look so much like this guy… The one from the movie _El Camino a Casa_ … what was the name…”

“Sí, it's part of our performance, hahahaha!” Ernesto cut him off quickly, he wouldn't let this trail of thought continue.

“Supongo.” The clerk shrugged. “What's the name of your band?”

Ernesto and Sartana exchanged a nervous look. This wasn't in the plan! Sartana began to fiddle with her hair. “W-well, to be honest…”

“We got the greatest duet name ever!” Ernesto clapped once, then opened his arms theatrically. “We are ‘Las Dos Guitarras’! You see, it’s symbolic. We both play the guitar, we know how to pull at each other’s heartstrings… She’s _worth playing for.._.”

Sartana’s soul markings emitted a noticeable pink glow. “You’re too kind…” she whispered.

“Dos Guitarras, uh?” The clerk arched one brow ridge at Sartana’s instrument. “I only see one… and it's in pretty bad shape.”

Ernesto leaned forward, resting his arm on the podium. “Well, there's plenty of criminals roaming the Wastelands, mi amigo. We lost one of them. And you had to see my last suit, we almost didn't make it!”

“I'm pretty sure those bandits are still after us.” Sartana finally joined the charade. “Emiliano, do you remember what were they like?”

“Oh sí. One of them wears a vest and a straw hat. And there was another… a woman in a purple dress that smacked me mercilessly…” Ernesto bit his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.

“And don’t forget the kid with retractable claws, or the old man with the golden sombrero! I don't feel like we’ll be safe and sound until we get a roof over our heads.” Sartana seemed to be pretty comfortable in her role. “Can we go in?”

“Claro que sí, tortolitos!” The clerk grinned and stepped aside. “Go backstage, we’ll call you when it's your turn.”

“Let's go inside, mi amor.” The singer took her hand into his and pushed the bar's door open.

“Good luck, muchachos!” Ernesto heard those words at their backs and he couldn't help but chuckle. What a fool! But he couldn't stop to think about it much. Sartana could release his hand now if she wanted, they didn't need to pretend to be married… but she didn't let go. She still held his hand in hers!

“We did it! We're in!” he squealed quietly, barely able to hold in his excitement.

“We are! I think backstage is over there. We have four performances before us to prepare our own.”

He bit his bottom lip. “Any of my songs would be too much of a giveaway, uh?”

She smirked. “Héctor isn’t the only songwriter you've worked with.”

* * *

 

Opocht raced against time. He could feel the proverbial heat of hell on his heels as he saw the Pirámide come into view. As the winds pounded against him, it occurred to the bear god that he wouldn't be able to do spells or shapeshift without risking losing his harpoon. When he grabbed it with his mouth, it vanished and instantly the wind became a dozen times worse.

The icicles were at their limits, but he didn't notice that until it was too late. The crisp snapping of every stalactite was almost lost beneath the howling of the wind. For only a second, they remained whole. A sharp crack could be heard over the currents, followed by an obstacle course of blade sharp daggers that Opocht did his best to dodge—though somewhat unsuccessfully, given the sting of blood he felt beneath his fur.

He pushed on as the icicles slammed together, creating a flurry of shards and flecks of sparkling frozen glitter. It was blinding, but he only could think of his mother. Squinting through the debris that flew around him in the wind, he kept his focus on the entrance of the Pirámide.

_I'm coming, Madre!_

The wind stole any extra breath he had in his lungs; though he wanted to scream and to push the words out of his throat, nothing came.

Something stabbed him in the back, stealing his sharp focus long enough for him to try and swat the painful ice away. Blood flew into the wind. It felt like ice as it trickled across his silver fur. The wind cooled it almost as fast as it bled.

His focus returned instantly. He had to reach his mother. He had to reach the entrance.

Still, Opocht pressed on. He noticed blood, but no longer knew if it was his, or his mother’s. And it didn't matter. Not now. He could see the door to the Pirámide Nocturna. It was close enough that he could actually discern the framework!

He ran, charging with all of his strength, channelling every ounce of power into the last push—Only to find that the door was locked. Now that he was no longer running, no longer pressing and focusing ahead, he found his voice one more time under the shelter provided by the thick framework over his head.

“Madre!!” He shouted for her as he felt his tears dry as soon as they were spilled. They crystalised on his fur as he used his claws to attack the door. “Madre! Madre!! MADRE!!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay. Summer was busy, and my budgie Will just passed away this weekend. Special thanks to my friend Bee, for her help with the weather conditions in the Land of the Unknown. 
> 
> About this chapter:  
> -Opocht is based in the Aztec God Opochtli and the concepts designed by my friend Morskijiez. Thank you for your awesome ideas!  
> -The Wastelands receive A LOT of influence of the Land of the Cursed. Trickery, shady deals and traps are very common.  
> -The Ghost Patrol are, effectively, ghosts that serve to Chamuco. They patrol the Veil and the surroundings of the Land of the Cursed to ensure no soul can escape this prison.  
> -Ernesto's orange suit is based in the Toys R Us exclusive Skullectable Ernesto figurine: https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-usOCCJf-65U/Wf5kLEr3owI/AAAAAAAAZRU/go0JxqsdKSsJOgw396ngW2wewqTFO50KACEwYBhgL/s1600/coco-skullectables-mattel-8.jpg  
> -The name of the fic, finally explained! Truth be told, originally I had in mind something bigger for Cheech's guitar. And while that guitar is still important, I do feel the symbolism of Sartana and Ernesto just fits the story <3
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> (Nahuatl)  
> Tlapatia - to restore/to fix  
> Ejekatsakuili - Cutting Wind
> 
> (Spanish)  
> Padre-Father  
> Sí-Yes  
> La Noche Triste - The Sad Night (read the notes on chapter 23 for more info)  
> Sí, eso es - Yes, that's right  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry  
> idiota - idiot  
> Qué onda, amiguita…? - What's up, my little friend?  
> Mira! - Look!  
> Serás menso! - Here it means "You're silly!"  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> Mamá/Madre - mother  
> La Pirámide Nocturna - The Night Pyramid  
> Calla! - Shut up!  
> Muy guapo - Very handsome  
> tan chaparrito - so short (said in a cute, affectionate way)  
> Siempre - Always  
> Vamos allá - Let's go  
> belleza - beauty  
> El Camino a Casa - The Way Home  
> Supongo - I guess  
> Las Dos Guitarras - The Two Guitars  
> mi amigo - my friend  
> tortolitos - lovers that live in their own little world  
> mi amor - my love  
> muchachos - guys


	25. Lies, Truths and Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

Teleporting to the Land of the Unknown was a bad idea. A terrible, horrible, very bad idea.

La Muerte barely managed to put herself together, as the storm spiraling over the Pirámide Nocturna shook the city to its foundations. The cherry moon was a fairly good warning, but only now she could see the extent of the damage. So many unknown skeletons struggled not to be blown away by the current!! She had to stop this!

Catrina took her hat and hit the ground with it. A golden aura surrounded it, and the hat became a giant shield.

“BASTA! Ya es suficiente!!” She raised it over her head and threw it like a boomerang.

The shield cut through the winds and sliced the clouds, destroying the storm in a flash of light. With a whistling sound, the godly weapon returned to her. The current slowed down little by little - until she could recognize a ragged breath struggling to be heard.

It was Luna’s! So her sister was still alive! Such confirmation filled her heart with hope.

La Muerte teleported to the Pirámide Nocturna in a swirl of cempasúchil petals. Hopefully it wasn’t too late for La Noche - or was it? 

The door had been smashed. Only bloody pieces of debris and ice remained as the mute witnesses of a tragedy lost to the storm. What had happened here? And more importantly - who would destroy the door, and attack her sister?! The goddess ran into the pyramid, her heart racing in her chest.

_Wait for me, Luna! I’m coming!_

* * *

 

Walking over one of the giant chains that held the forgotten lands from collapse had never felt harder for him. He would just fly over them, but he couldn't. Not when the winds were strong enough to make those chains tremble, much less when the blood rain wetted his feathers.

“Tezca, are you sure this is the only way? Doing this to Itzpa… feels wrong...”

With his curly blond hair, his vitiligo vanilla and blue skin, his birdlike left foot and his iridescent hummingbird wings, Huitzi was certainly more akin to the ancestry on his mother's side of the family. And not only in looks, but also in his heart. He held his sister close, noticing the tears in her empty eyes. She struggled against the smoke ropes around her wrists and the gag covering her mouth, but no sound came out. She was scared. Afraid of them. Of him.

“It's the only way, Huitzi.” Tezca answered in a unflinching tone. He spoke with the wisdom attributed to his namesake. With his indigo and charcoal robes, his ebony skin and the dark turquoise stripe across his feline eyes, he carried himself with an elegant, yet intimidating grace. “Sartana needed to leave, period. Itzpa and Quetzal are disabled, thus unable to rule. We're the next in line.”

The winged deity looked ahead, trying to suppress the guilt staining his heart. “What about Xipeto?”

The god in black and blue turned around, giving him a judgemental gaze. “No one con dos dedos de frente would turn him into a ruler. He’s too shallow. He cares more about his followers on Twitter than any soul in our lands.” He answered, stroking the short beard growing on his chin. “And before you ask - Zacapi might be smart but he's a drug addict. Xochi and Itchpo are children.”

Huitzi frowned a little. “So we're the only ones left… right?”

“That's correct, hermano.” Tezca gave him a nod; then reached to hold Itzpa's chin between two of his fingers. “Don't worry, mi pequeña mariposa. We won’t hurt you. It’s gonna be alright. Everything we do, it's for the greater good.”

That closeness between them creeped Huitzi to no end. There was something almost incestuous in the way Tezca looked at her. The sun god bit his bottom lip and stepped back, drawing his sister away from his older brother’s grasp. “Is it, really?” he dared to ask.

“Of course, hermano mío,” Tezca answered, a nonchalant smile filled his face. “Some sacrifices must be made in order to achieve it, that is all.”

“Xipeto jokes about sacrifices all the time - but you're willing to make them and that's scary.” Huitzi held his sister closer to himself, frowning. “Sartana was burned alive and banished. Itzpa is blind and forgets everything every time she goes to sleep. If I didn't know you any better, I'd think you had something to do with what happened to Quetzal, too.”

“I hope you’re not talking about this again…” Tezca leaned back, his gaze cold as ice.

“I know we talked about this before, but...”

“...because I’m pretty sure we already handled this topic previously.”

“We did, but there’s a few things that don’t match…”

“Huitzi, this conversation is over.”

“I read the old registration books…”

“Huitzi…”

“His Third Eye vanished on a Killing Mission-”

“ **Huitzi** …”

“Quetzal and you used to be close back then...”

**“ENOUGH OF THESE PINCHES PENDEJADAS, HUITZI! DON’T DARE TO QUESTION MY PAST WITH QUETZAL! EVER!”**

Huitzi flinched and stepped back. He looked down, Itzpa was frozen in fear - just like him.

Tezca sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Those books were not written by the ones who truly suffered. What you see there... They're all lies.”

“Lies...” Huitzi’s shoulders dropped in defeat.

"Sí, lies. You already know how Mom manipulated all the books to erase all references to Sartana’s crime? This is more of the same.” The god of darkness leaned forward to touch his shoulder. “Mira… We are a team. We are brothers. There has not been a time I have kept something from you, or lied to you. Demonios, you even know the most embarrassing facts of my life! What I mean is… I know this is hard, brother, but I promise you: What we do is the right thing."

Maybe asking questions wasn’t a good idea after all. “I shouldn’t have asked,” Huitzi agreed in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. “You are the oldest out of the two of us, and the wisest. You would never do such a thing without telling me… You always tell me everything. Sí... We’re a team.”

Tezca smiled and opened his arms to give him a hug, soon including Itzpa into it. “That’s right, we are. You are my hermano pequeño, and the best of the four Nahuales.” He pulled back and patted his arm. “You’ll see. Once our plans are complete, you’ll get not only a land to rule, but also the recognition you deserve.”

* * *

 

Sartana was sitting on the ground, quickly scribbling in her spellbook. The old journal doubled as spellbook, songbook, and actual diary, but that last part was something she wouldn’t tell anyone, ever. She was already struggling to hide a certain heart with his initials - just a doodle from her teen years - when she saw Anita sitting right in front of her, ears up and alert.

“You can change back to your human form if you want. Ernesto went to search for his horse.”

The chihuahua didn't answer, but allowed herself to change. Sparkles of light left her body as paws became hands and feet, snout became skull, and beautiful wavy black hair protruded from her head - leaving only her green ears and tail as connection to her alebrije form. But what truly impressed Sartana were the similarities to her champion.

The same cheekbones. The same eyes…

“You are…”

“Ernesto's mamá, sí.” The woman nodded and sat by her side. “You can call me Anita. It’s my real name, anyway.”

“Then… the others… They are...” Sartana bit her bottom lip.

Anita nodded and looked down, dropping her shoulders. It seemed she mouthed something, but no sound came out. Sartana waited, giving her sideways glances every now and then.

Finally, Anita groaned and covered her face. “I travel across the lands, I think of so many things I want to tell you, and now I'm blank!”, she whined.

“It's okay, it happens.” Sartana reached to pat her shoulder. “I… I guess I deserve some calling out.” She removed her hand and hugged her own knees. “I killed your son, carried all your family in a potato sack, recruited Ernesto to help me out in a mission where there's no  guarantee we’ll make it… among other things...”, she rambled on.

“Eso es. You’re a desastre andante for a deity. However...” The alebrije woman’s brow relaxed as she picked up one of Sartana's clawed hands into hers. “I know you spent four months by his side after the second bell fell over him. And through all the time we’ve been apart, my connection with my son allowed me to see these new feelings in his heart. I might not be able to trust you just yet, but… Ernesto loves you, Sartana. He truly does.”

One thing was listening those words in a song, and another was having it confirmed by an alebrije. Sartana brought a hand to her chest, joy and fear dancing in between.

“He -really- loves me…?” She echoed.

“He does.” The woman nodded, her eyes closed. “But this opens a new question. Do you love him?”

“I…”

Anita lifted her hand to silence her. “Don’t answer now. Words are easy, they come and go with the wind. I want actions. If you love him - prove it to me. If you do, you’ll have my blessing - and my forgiveness.”

Sartana chuckled and hid her face under her hat in an attempt to hide her blush. “That’s a first. An alebrije blessing a banished goddess.”

The woman wagged her tail and nudged her. “There’s a first time for everything.” Sartana could tell she wanted to say more, but a rustle outside interrupted her. Anita shapeshifted back into her dog form.

Just like she guessed, it was Ernesto. When Sartana felt his arms come around her, holding her in a hug from behind, she knew composing would become harder… or easier than ever.

“Ernesto…”

“I can’t believe you can write songs so fast.” He whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. “Where have you been all my life?”

“I guess I was busy, though right now I don’t know exactly why.” She leaned back, resting a little against him. Sartana knew it was risky to get this affectionate with him, but… she couldn’t help it. Knowing he loved her, her body seemed to reciprocate that feeling almost by default, even if she tried to focus in the matters at hand. “Did you find the horses?”

“Sí.” He nodded and took one of her clawed hands into his, just to kiss the spot where her knuckles would be. “The owner has a barn next to the restaurant. Not the one where we locked up those two musicians, fortunately. It will be easy to steal those animals in case we need to run.”

Sartana bit her bottom lip. That little kiss sure got her to blush. “Muy bien. We’ll just have to hold this charade a little longer…”, she mumbled, looking down so he wouldn’t notice the glow on her face.

“For me, this is piece of cake.” Ernesto interlaced his fingers with hers. “Besides… Who says it's a charade? You’re not fighting this much, mi diosa. Not as much as I thought you would.” He was nearly purring, and the goddess in red and black crossed her legs. Did he have any idea of the effect such a voice had on her?

“You’re very evil, taking risks like that.” She grinned and released his hand to push him away, albeit playfully. “That’s definitely earning you some points, my champion.”

Ernesto got back on his feet easily, chuckling all the way. He sat by her side. “Qué bueno saberlo. Mind if I take a look at the song you’re writing?”

“Go for it.” Sartana handed him her notebook. “This is your part, I gave you a crescendo here, see? I get one toward the end too. And these doodles are some dance steps we could try. This song is still not finished, but… What do you think?”

Ernesto scrutinized every verse, reading through it with a sharp look. “I like that each one of us get chances to sing individually before we go on full duet. The crescendos are great as well. I’d say it’s pretty good so far, but I’d recommend add a verse breather here… and maybe a pause here. Na na na, na na na, na-na~ See? It's a softer way to wrap it up.”

Sartana’s eyes went wide. “Tienes razón!” she gasped, before taking the notebook from his hands to add his suggestions. “Much better! Now I feel like it flows!” She clapped her hands, then pulled him into an one-armed hug. “I knew I could count on you!”

“Anything for you,” he whispered, hugging her back.

It was then when she heard more people about to join them backstage. She let go of him and offered him a hand to get up, which he took. Standing up together, Sartana felt able to confess something that was still nagging at her. “I’m not sure if my guitar will be able to hold up a whole performance…”

He squeezed her hand and smirked. “We can steal someone else’s guitar. It won’t be as wondrous as yours, but it’s better to save yours and its magic in case we run into trouble.”

“Not taking risks on that one, uh?” Sartana arched one brow ridge.

Ernesto reached to cup her cheek. “Not when your life is at stake. I already made the mistake of being overconfident once. I’m not going to do it again. Not with you.”

“Ernesto…” Her gaze softened. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. For everything sacred in the word, she did love this man. “Gracias.”

“No hay de qué.” He stepped back, and Sartana noticed a faint glow over his flower markings. “I’ll go steal a guitar from one of these fools, can’t be hard. You start working on the music sheets, sí?”

“Of course.” She smiled, watching him leave again. The moment the door closed after him, Sartana heard someone clapping behind her. It was Anita, who soon stood by her side.

“Te lo dije. He loves you.” The alebrije mother whispered, using the Moon Staff to help herself up.

“He really does…” Sartana hugged herself, overwhelmed by emotion. To be loved… is this how it felt? Warm, soft, and cared for?  Her claws got a tight grip on her sleeves. Did she truly deserve to feel this way?

* * *

 

Manny put his sunglasses over his hair. If they were going into an adventure of godlike proportions, they'd need all the help possible - and he knew exactly where to get it.

Machete had been really kind to drive him to the house where his parents lived since White Pantera had passed the torch to El Tigre as hero of Miracle City - a humble apartment close to the coast. His mother wasn’t too happy to see him all suited up, but his father was all for it. He didn’t even hesitate when he asked him to hand over the Golden Boots of Truth and the Golden Sombrero of Chaos. He did have questions, though.

“What are these for, mijo?” Rodolfo took off his shoes and handed them to Manny, along with the Sombrero that once belonged to Grandpapi.

“And why are you hanging out with… them?” María’s voice dropped an octave at the sight of the cyborg skeleton and his son.

“Today they don't come to us as villains, but as family worried for one of their members,” Manny explained, picking up the weapons. He put on the Boots, then adjusted the Sombrero the best he could to his head. Wearing both items at once would counteract their negative and positive energies. “Just like you guessed some months ago - Sartana has disappeared. But we're going to find her. THIS I SWEAR!!”

“Or we’ll die trying, which is also likely!” Frida called out, still sitting on the motorbike. “Señores Rivera, please! Don't tell my Papá, sí?”

“You know I can't say no when you ask like that.” Rodolfo rubbed the back of his head and María gasped in shock.

“You can't be serious! I thought we would call him as soon as they left! What if they get hurt? What if-?!”

The ex-hero wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Mi amor, I know it's tough for you. But you gotta believe in Manny. He’s been on the job since he was 13. Trust him.”

“This is like what happened to us all over again.” Maria pulled her son in a big hug. “I have a bad feeling about this, mijo. You shouldn't go either, Frida.”

“Vamos, Mamá.” Manny sank into her arms. “We're heroes. What's the worst that can happen?”

Suddenly, all the animals of the city erupted in a chorus of howls, barks, meows, caws and roars. Even Señor Chapi, an old parrot that spent most days perched on Rodolfo’s shoulder, began to scream and flap its wings nervously, as if something scared him. The ex-hero tried to calm him down. “Heyyy, que pasa, wey?”

“Peligro! Peligro! Whaaaack!!”

Frida gasped in horror. “Guys, watch out!”

The ground quaked under their feet. The dark clouds over the city's volcano began to swirl; and a loud crash could be heard from the sky. When Manny looked over his head, a rip of light shattered the heaven of the city, breaking the surface and the clouds almost as if all of it was made of glass. Giant twisters descended from the rip and now they threatened to  destroy everything in their path!

“Maybe something like that!” Django jumped from the bike, mystic guitar in hand. “Stay back, I'll end it!”

“Django, NO!!”

Manny’s warning came one second too late, as Django launched an attack. Red energy flew from his guitar and hit the middle of the road, opening a river of lava right under the path of the twister. The smoke and the fire began to swirl along with it. Manny held his breath - Would the heat be enough to extinguish it?

* * *

 

Putting her shield back on her head, La Muerte felt her weapon return to its regular hat form. When she went upstairs, a sense of relief untied the knots around her heart: some Unknown skeletons and their winged horse had managed to find shelter here. Just three, though. They bowed to her as soon as they recognized her.

“Tulio… Miguel… Chel, right? I've seen what happened to the door.”

“Perdona nuestra intrusión, Piadosa Señora. Opocht was wounded…” Tulio apologised right away, concern etched on his features.

“He’s our friend, he needed help. We couldn't leave him like that,” Miguel tried to explain, looking aside.

She raised one hand to silence them. “Enough. Is my nephew still here? Where's my sister?”

Chel bit her bottom lip. “They are in the throne chambers, but… I'm not sure if this a good moment to talk with him, mi señora…”

Catrina narrowed her eyes. She understood their worries, but Opocht was family. Maybe not one of of her children, maybe already a teenager, but still young and alone in a situation that could overwhelm him easily. He needed her help. “I'm not going to abandon him. I already made that mistake once. I’m not going to do it again.”

She had only walked a couple steps past them when she heard Miguel. “To err is human.”

The goddess in red looked back to him and the blonde skeleton smiled to her. She returned the gesture. He was right. For a goddess, sure she had made mistakes, too. But there was something gentle and forgiving about those words. Maybe she could begin to forgive, starting with herself. But, for now, she needed to find Opocht. She could hear it outside - the weather was picking up again without her there to hold it back.

“Opocht? Opocht, answer me! I'm your tía, La Muerte!” she called out, but no answer came. The goddess wondered if her nephew remembered her. Fifty-six years weren't too much for a deity, but still…

A muffled sob came from the room over her head. The throne chamber. True, his friends had told her so. Catrina shapeshifted in a swirl of marigolds and flew to the heart of the pyramid. She changed back right outside the room. Her own heart rate quickened when she perceived the cold emanating from it - and the view wasn't much better.

The water pool was frozen, and the icicles surrounding mother and son were stained with blotches of her sister's blood. One would think the most horrifying view was the wound on La Noche's head.

“Luna…!”

But even that image was topped by what her nephew was about to do. Opocht was kneeling on the floor, holding his harpoon over his mother’s chest. His hands were trembling. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He was about to end her existence!!

“OPOCHT, NO!!”

Sometimes, it just takes an instant of thoughtless action to swift the gears of destiny. La Muerte rushed in and touched his shoulder.

“Sartana…” Opocht’s eyes and markings - an osprey beak across his forehead, flying fish fins on his cheeks and an armadillo shell on his chin - began to glow. “HOW COULD YOU?!!”

* * *

 

Everything had been a nightmare the moment he stepped into his homeland. The wind, the ice, the blood, the pain. His friends were the only comfort he found through this ill-fated time. But even those three knew when he needed to be alone to cry.

His healing magic wasn't strong enough. No matter how hard he tried, the crack wouldn't heal completely. What was the point in saving animals and gods all around the living world when he was too weak to complete the ritual to save her life? Tears blurred his sight.

Was Sartana the one to hurt his mother like this, really? Or was it the human man from the photo he had found in her feathered headdress? Whoever had done this to her deserved to suffer as much as he did. Opocht narrowed his eyes, as he felt the storm pushing the Veil between the worlds. All it would take was one small push. His harpoon trembled in his hands. If only he could save his mother…

“OPOCHT, NO!!”

A warm hand grasped his shoulder; and a giant hat covered him on its shadow. A criminal always comes back to the scene of the crime, his father used to say.

“Sartana… HOW COULD YOU?!!”

Rage turned into energy, which became light and fear. His soul markings and his eyes felt like burning. It was so painful that he could no longer hold his harpoon. The ice under his feet  cracked, and a new hurricane began to swirl around him, creating a ball of wind and ice around his mother and himself. He meant to create a shield, but his weather powers escaped from his grasp - and the hurricane destroyed the top of the Pirámide! A worthy sacrifice if with it he could punish her.

Yet… she was using her hat as a shield? He’d never seen her do that before. “Opocht! I’m not Sartana!”, she said. “I am La Muerte, your Tía! Don’t you remember me?”

“LIAR!” Opocht roared, throwing a gush of wind in her direction.

It was a goddess, given her hand was everything she needed to redirect his attack. But that didn’t scare him. Opocht raised his arms over his head. His dreadlocks danced with the currents, as he summoned a ball of electricity between his hands.

“ **Ixtelotli tlaueuetekilistli**!! “ He exclaimed, launching his attack.

“ **Ejekauia!** ” She lifted her shield again, and the astray lightnings from his attack drew marks in the ice, cracking it further. Why was she so powerful?! Was this truly his cousin?

“You think you’re strong, uh?!” Opocht was too angry to stop and listen to reason. He clenched his hands into fists and drew a circle with one of his legs over the cold surface before he stomped on it. The ice cracked under his command, and a wave of water surrounded his bubble. “Eat this!” He turn it into ice daggers that he threw against her. “ **Itskatki tlatekini~!** ”

* * *

 

La Muerte raised her shield again, blocking the ice shards. As his aunt, she was all too aware that her raw power could hurt him. But if she didn’t stop him, Opocht was in a grave danger - he could hurt his own mother, or even himself; and she couldn’t allow it.

The goddess ran toward him, and she could feel the fear rising in her nephew's heart. She could not let anything -not wind whips, thunder balls or bricks of ice and hail- stop her. She blocked them with her shield and dodged them as often as possible.

At arm's length, La Muerte felt her hat blow away. Her hair, naked to the elements thrown about by Opocht, whipped around her face, giving her the appearance she had once, as a young goddess: Wild, even dangerous. She crossed her arms in front of herself, keeping her guard up at all times. He attempted to hit her square in the chest, and La Muerte managed to brush off the attack, if only barely.

Forcing herself to do one of the hardest things she would ever need to, the goddess finally allowed herself to attack. Not to harm, not to kill; only to incapacitate, as her leg made contact with the hollow of his ribs. Knocking air and balance from the god in blue, La Muerte watched him stumble and try to catch himself. Before he could recover, she leapt at him, ready to tackle the younger god to the ground. She felt the burning pain of heartache as she wrapped her arms around his body, trying to pin him down so he could do no further damage.

The wind didn't stop. It roared around the two of them like a lion as Opocht struggled. He kicked, and thrashed, and several times used language that she would have normally seen fit to punish over, but it didn't matter. Right now, she only needed him to see her, and listen.

“Opocht… Opocht, por favor! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!!”

The wind began to slow down. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “...Tía Muerte?”

“Sí… It’s me, Opocht… it’s me.” She could sense his emotions in her heart. He didn't want to hurt his mom, or anyone. Then…“What were you doing with your harpoon, Opocht?”

“I… I… No puedo…” He sniffled and broke down as he fell to his knees. His sobs echoed in the room.

La Muerte released him slowly. She knelt and cupped gently his face into her hands. “Shhh, shh… It’s alright. Estoy aquí… Estoy aquí.” She pulled him in a warm hug. “Take deep breaths, it’s alright...”

For a moment that felt eternal, the young god was shaking and crying in his aunt’s arms. Catrina held him close, running a hand over his dreadlocks. It was then when she noticed the wounds on his back. “Opocht! You're hurt!”

He ducked his head in shame. “Yo… L-lo siento, tía Muerte… I… I was trying to save her, but… I couldn't…”

“Don't move.” She held him with one arm, and ran her free hand over his injuries, that healed under her touch. He wasn't lying, she knew it. But still… “How is stabbing someone through the heart going to save them, Opocht? I don't understand...”

“It’s…” he swallowed a sob and rubbed his eyes. “It's too late to heal her… at least with regular methods. Mamá needs to go through the Círculo Eterno.” He looked up to her. “Por favor, tía Muerte. You gotta help us…”

The goddess dropped her shoulders and turned to look at her sister. Carefully, she lifted one of La Noche's hands into hers. She was so pale and cold to the touch... almost dead. Catrina forced herself to look back to him. “I want to help. What's the Círculo Eterno? It's the first time I hear such a thing.”

Opocht bit his bottom lip before answering. “It's… it’s Ancient Magic… the process through which a god can be killed and reborn.” He winced. “A stab through the chest, straight to the heart…”

The goddess felt her blood run cold at the idea. The concept wasn’t unknown to her, humans used to perform similar sacrifices, though for different reasons. “Wait, wait. That sounds very dangerous, Opocht. You shouldn’t…”

The youngster clung to her arms. “Mamá can’t wait! She could die for real if we don’t do something to save her! You MUST help us!!!”

La Muerte looked away. She understood her nephew’s despair, but, even so… she couldn’t do it. “Opocht… I don’t think I should perform a ritual I know nothing about. It’s a hazardous situation. She’s still alive, but barely. If we don’t do it right… we could kill her for real. You understand it, right?”

“I… I do.” His grasp weakened, and his hands fell to his sides. He looked down. “The ritual takes a sacrifice of the body, if my sources are reliable... I thought… that you'd know more about it...”

“Los adultos no tienen siempre todas las respuestas. I know healing spells that involve godly weapons and soul ties; but what happened to your Mamá is… much worse.” La Muerte scooped her sister gently up into her arms, and her headdress fell the the ground. “Where did you hear about the Círculo Eterno? Perhaps we might be able to find what we need there.”

“Uhh…” Opocht looked down and rubbed his wrist. “It was Huixt. You know she's studying with the Candle Maker? He isn't teaching her just regular magic.” His hands clenched into fists. “He started passing to her some secrets that most gods ignore. He’s preparing her to become his successor in the Dawn of the Sixth Sun.”

La Muerte's eyes went wide. “But… she's so young. I thought he kept no secrets from me.”

“He does keep things to himself. But Huixt doesn't. Not from me.” He picked up his harpoon, then took out the photo he had found from his pocket. “I have a gut feeling that the man in this photo is involved in this, too...”

Catrina frowned a little. He had hit the nail right on the head, but she didn't want to feed that explosive rage of his. “Well… We should focus on helping your mom now. The Candle Maker helped Itzpa once. He should be able to help her to go through the Círculo Eterno.”

“Quizás…” Opocht looked at La Noche's headdress again, and then it hit him. “Wait a minute. My friends were right,” he whispered. “Sartana took the Moon Staff. How are we going to get to the Cave of Souls? We can't stop the storm without it...!”

La Muerte looked up to the hole through the ceiling. Dark clouds, snow and howling winds were everything she could see.

“...We need a miracle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, new chapter! I want to dedicate this chapter to four awesome friends of mine: My darling Bee, whose advices and suggestions were key to the writing of some scenes; my dear friends Ernie and Kellie, who donated to my Ko-Fi (Thank you SO much!); and to my awesome fellow Sarnesto writer, Kyra, whose 18th birthday takes place in this week! HAPPY B-DAY!! Also, happy Halloween and Día de Muertos to all of you, my readers! You make HDDG possible!
> 
> Secondly - we finally get to meet the Real Villains of this fic! Tezca and Huitzi are based in deities of the Aztec myths:  
> Tezcatlipoca https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tezcatlipoca  
> Huitzilopochtli https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hu%C4%ABtzil%C5%8Dp%C5%8Dchtli
> 
> The Eternal Circle ritual is loosely based in the human sacrifices celebrated to honor the deity Xipe Totec. TW for blood and overall body horror: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xipe_Totec#Human_sacrifice
> 
> Translations for Spanish:  
> BASTA! Ya es suficiente!! - Stop! This is (already) enough!  
> mi pequeña mariposa - my little butterfly  
> con dos dedos de frente - with two fingers of forehead. Depending on the context, it can mean smart or stupid.  
> hermano mío - my brother  
> pinches pendejadas - stupid things (but very angry said)  
> Eso es - That's it  
> desastre andante - walking disaster  
> Qué bueno saberlo - That's good to know!  
> Tienes razón - you're right!  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> No hay de qué - You're welcome  
> Te lo dije - Told you so!  
> Qué pasa, wey? - What's up, dude?  
> peligro - danger  
> Perdona nuestra intrusión, Piadosa Señora - Forgive our intrusion, pious lady  
> por favor - please  
> tía - aunt  
> No puedo - I can't  
> Estoy aquí - I'm here  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry  
> Círculo Eterno - Eternal Circle  
> Mamá - Mom  
> Quizás - Maybe
> 
> Translations for Nahuatl:  
> Ixtelotli tlaueuetekilistli (Ojo de la tormenta) : Eye of the storm  
> Ejekauia (Proteger del viento) - To protect from the wind  
> Itskatki tlatekini (Cuchillos de hielo) - Ice Knives


	26. I Want To Give You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

Anita knew the show had begun when music played clearly from the first band on stage. Given the way the diosa was squeezing her journal, she could tell Sartana was nervous. “My dear, if you keep clutching on to your diary like that, you’re going to break it…” The alebrije woman pointed, touching the goddess's humerus.

“Ernesto should have returned by now, don’t you think…?” Sartana whispered back. The vulnerability in her voice melted Anita’s heart.

“I’ll go check on him. You’ve finished the music sheet, right?” Anita smiled to her.

“Of course. I’m a professional.” Sartana proudly raised her chin.

“Then, why are you so worried?” she teased her.

The exiled deity crossed her arms. “I’m not worried. He’s a grown up, he can take care of himself, I just… want him to come back already.”

Anita couldn’t help but chuckle. The rumors were true - old as they could be, most gods still behaved as young kids whenever their skills were questioned. “Por supuesto. I’ll go to pick him up, then.”

The alebrije lady handed the moon staff back to the fallen goddess and shapeshifted back into her dog form: Her face became a snout, her pale bones were covered in neon green fluff, and her new wings sprouted on her back. Her smaller size allowed her to move backstage easily without raising too many questions, as she dodged mariachis in pink and a kid riding his reptilian alebrije. She found Ernesto close to one of the back doors, guitar in hand, as he spied on some men that worked hand in hand with the waiters carrying groceries to the kitchen. She hid behind a column to listen as well.

“So all communications with the other kingdoms got cut?”

“Pretty much. I'm not sure how long it will take reestablishing communications, but I know it all began with a storm.”

“A storm? I’ve noticed faint temperature changes through the seasons, but an actual weather change… that's something else. Do you think the gods are involved?”

“It's highly likely. The Land of the Unknown is unreachable. Mi primo heard rumors it's raining blood in the Land of the Cursed.”

“Should we tell the others?”

“Nah. We'd spread panic when chances are the storm will miss our town...”

“Qué demonios…?” Anita couldn't help but huff under her breath. She walked up to Ernesto and nuzzled his foot to let him know of her presence.

Her son looked down and petted her head. “Hola, Anita… Mira qué guitarra!”, Ernesto picked her up with one of his arms and showed her the guitar he held with the other. It wasn't anything fancy, just a cheap imitation of the guitar he stole from Héctor with the wrong decorations - an owl opening its wings at the bottom, replacing the skull with embellishments. “Won it playing poker with one of the local musicians.”

Anita gave him a stern glare, lowering her eyelids. She knew he couldn't lie to her. He knew it too.

“Alright, he hecho trampas to get it. Are you happy now?”

The chihuahua barked in approval, then pointed to the dressing room where they left their divine companion. She could feel how Ernesto tensed up right away. “What’s up amiguita? Is Sartana alright?”

Anita pointed to the dressing room again. Surely he understood what she was trying to say?

* * *

 

Ernesto bit his bottom lip and nodded. Given his other chihuahuas weren’t here, he’d have to trust Anita for the time being. “De acuerdo. I'm coming!”

Fortunately he didn’t have to walk far. The moment he was about to come in - he bumped into Sartana, and her hat fell to the floor.

“ **Ack!** ”

“ **Ow!** ”

Her belongings fell all over the place, and Ernesto rushed to pick them up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Está bien.” When she knelt to help him, Sartana noticed his new guitar. She picked it up and examined it. “You found a new guitar! It's… it's so beautiful.” The goddess looked up to him. “Ernesto, you're great! This is exactly what I needed!”

“Of course I am.” He put his hands on his waist, chin up in pride. “But… why do you say that now?”

“Because I can transfer that piece of my soul from my guitar to yours. I won't be as vulnerable or as tired as I was with my broken guitar.”

A smug grin appeared on the failed musician’s skull. “So you're trusting me with your life.”

Her markings became red. Sartana put on her hat quickly, and Ernesto noticed a green gem fall from it. He picked it up, just in time to listen a shy confession. “Sí… I do.” The goddess muttered, putting her damaged guitar on top of the new one. She ran a claw gently over his messy patch-up work, then looked back to him and offered him her hand, smiling. “We have a soul link. I can't do this without you, Ernesto.”

His moustache twitched, matching the confusion in his eyes. Apparently the soul link connected them for magic issues too? Well, he could exist with that. He saved the gem in his pocket and accepted her hand. “Alright, do I have to do anything special, or…?

“Just think of me and hold my hand. I'll do the rest.” She assured him.

“Alright, let's do it.”

Sartana placed her free hand on the maltreated instrument and closed her eyes. A red glow appeared under her fingers.

_“Oh strings of fate, transfer this soul piece from its current body to the one that awaits!”_

The old guitar released a red glow, and a ball of red light came out of it. Once the light abandoned Sartana’s guitar, the old instrument crumbled to dust. Sartana squeezed his hand, and Ernesto wondered if that light-headed sensation in his head was something she felt too. The ball of light flew around the pair for a couple times before it landed in the new guitar.

The moment it vanished, Ernesto felt his mind clearing once again. Sartana picked up the instrument and hugged it. The white hue became gold, just like her previous one, though it still retained its owl engraving. “Mmh, so much better.” She smiled quietly. “Now my soul is safe and sound once again. Muchas gracias, Ernesto.”

“It was nothing…” The musician took a deep breath. Now that he took a moment to look at her, she seemed… happy. Genuine happiness that made her look younger and more beautiful than ever. He tried to save that memory in his mind. “I already told you, Sartana. I’d move Heaven and Earth for you…”

“Oh no, not those words. Don’t hand me any drinks in the next five minutes, you fool.” She got up, a grin on her face.

“Ffff…” He pouted. He’d usually get angry at anyone who was able to turn his crimes into a joke, but… something about the way she said it kept him calm. Perhaps it was the fact she was never upset by his actions, simply accepted them. It was that sense of acceptance and unconditional affection what ended warming up the void in his ribcage.

He looked up, smirking. “As if you’d be able to reject anything coming from me,” Ernesto teased her back and offered her his hand. “Vamos, mi diosa. I want to see what kind of rivals we’re going to defeat.”

She took it, smiling. “Sí...”

* * *

 

Sartana wasn’t sure what to expect. More contestants had joined the show in the last minute, and the amazing quality of some made her wonder if the contest itself would indeed land in their favor. It wasn’t like she still needed that horse, she could walk, and fly for short periods of time. But ‘Dante’ had always been important to Ernesto. It would be worth it to save him, if only to show Ernesto and Anita how much she actually valued their feelings.

In the end, this was what this journey was about, wasn't it? To prove herself worthy of her family’s forgiveness. She had made a mistake and she wanted to fix it before it was too late. Maybe even improve her own life, too. After all… she didn't have many chances left...

“Sartana?”

“Mmmh?”

“You look distracted,” he pointed out. That look of concern was adorable. “¿Estás bien?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking things through,” she answered, taking a look at their surroundings. They were sitting at a restaurant table, watching all the performances before theirs. Their turn would come soon and she didn’t want to think of it. What if the nerves got the best of her?

“Well…” Ernesto took out something from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “I found this when we ran into each other earlier. I think it’s yours.”

Sartana gasped when she recognized it. The stone was as big as the palm of his hand. The oval had a smooth finish and a brilliant green colour, like an emerald. But this was definitely not an emerald.

“The Third Eye! Oh, gracias, Ernesto!” She took off her hat to save it within the secret pocket. “It would have been a disaster if I misplaced it. Muchas gracias.”

“Third Eye?” His voice channeled his confusion. “It looks more like a gem, or some kind of precious stone.”

“It’s actually a weapon…” She put on her hat, then leaned close to whisper. “Concretely, my brother’s Quetzal’s weapon. One that gives the user the power to see what lies at everyone's hearts.”

Ernesto covered his mouth to hide his gasp. “Wait, you say... Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Snake, the heir to the throne of the Land of the Remembered?! THAT guy?! How is it that you have his weapon?”

His innocence never failed to make her smile. “Yes, that one. You already know I have many siblings, why are you surprised?”

“It’s just… sometimes I forget you’re not only mi princesa, but actual royalty”, Ernesto muttered in a sheepish tone, and Sartana’s markings flashed pink. The honesty of his words made her melt. “I don’t understand how you got it. Did you steal it or something?”

The goddess shook her head. “No, no. You see… The Third Eye appeared in Miracle City shortly after I was banished. It’s weird, because Quetzal still had it on his forehead when he visited me along with Tezca, during one of their Killing Mission practices.”

The performance of the nuns ended, and a new contestant entered - a man whose voice put Pavarotti's to shame.

Not really paying attention to the stage, Sartana lowered her voice. “Given my situation, I am no longer a heir to the throne, but neither the Great Powers or my mother had decided who’d take the throne on my behalf. In situations like this, the first heir, in other words, me, has a saying on designating the next in line. They wanted to know who I’d choose as heir.”

Ernesto rubbed his chin and leaned forward. Clearly he understood the secrecy of such topics of conversation. “Who did you choose?”, he whispered.

Sartana looked down and put one of her hands on top of the other, giving herself a moment to recollect her memories about that night. “My brothers are pretty much the incarnation of Mind and Heart. Tezca is witty, smart, knowledgeable, very serious and set in the Ancient Rules. Quetzal is strong, responsible, kind, and has a great sense of family. Although being neat and tidy is important, I always felt that a good ruler needs to be open to change, and most importantly, to love, of all things. Memories exist because love is, or was attached to them at some point. Quetzal gets it, he’s always using what's left of his power to help everyone in need. That’s why I chose him.”

When she looked back to Ernesto, she noticed that his eyes were slightly glassy. “You could have been an amazing queen… you just spoke as one.”

That stung in the sweetest of ways. Sartana raised one hand over the place where her heart once was. “Gracias… My father said the same when I was banished.”

His eyes went wide. “Oh, lo siento! I didn’t want to bring back bad memories.”

The goddess placed a hand over his. “It’s fine, really. Either way, my brothers left, and I heard them arguing on their way out. Tezca was fuming. I never heard him cursing like that. Quetzal argued back, but I didn’t interfere. They wouldn’t have listened to me anyway...”

Ernesto leaned even closer. “And then?”

“The next day, the Alarm of the Gods went off. Apparently Quetzal had lost his weapon in the mortal world and now he couldn’t go back to Earth because, without his weapon, he had lost most of his magic. I had no idea about what happened, so I couldn’t help.”

The mariachi looked up to the stage, but he wasn't really looking at the man on it. Even when the goddess could feel his thoughts drifting to a dark place, she didn't expect the words that followed. “Do you think Tezca attacked him? Like… a backstab move to separate Quetzal from his weapon? So he'd become a more suitable heir?”

Sartana shuddered at the possibility. “I… I did think of it, especially when Tezca was the one to take him home. But that black cat has always been so respectful, so lawful, smarter than anyone… it's hard to imagine him doing something so heinous.”

Her hand stopped trembling when Ernesto covered it with hers. “I’m just saying it's suspicious. Anyway… You said the Third Eye appeared in Miracle City. How did you find it?”

A weak smile filled her skull. “Some years later, a bunch of humans announced they had found this huge “emerald” and they were going to display it in a museum. When I saw the photo, I recognized my brother’s weapon and decided to recover it. It took me two tries to get it - the first time, El Tigre foiled my plans.”

The musician leaned back, frowning in confusion. “A tiger got in your way?”

“Not an actual tiger, tontorrón,” Sartana giggled. “El Tigre is a wannabe superhero who is too nosy for his own good and never lets me carry out most of my plans. His grandpa is the guy who ruined most of my life…”

“Eughh. How could I forget. De tal palo, tal astilla.” Even if she could see his anger boiling under the surface, the fact that he sighed to stay calm for her sake made her smile. “What a cursed family.”

“Tell me about it… but eh.” She gently lifted his chin with one of her claws. “I’m a survivor, and I'm still here.”

Ernesto's markings lit up with a light pink hue. If she narrowed her eyes, she'd swear that those flower buds were so close to bloom. His face was very close, so close. And those bony lips were such a temptation... His hand went up and caressed her cheek. Her own markings felt hot under his touch. “Sí... you're here…”

Even his voice was inviting. She closed her eyes. Would this be it?

“Emiliano, Sara, your turn!!”, the event organiser called them.

Sartana pulled back and bit her bottom lip. “Oh, s-sí! We’re on our way!” She turned to Ernesto, a bashful grin on her face. “Ready to crush our enemies?”

Ernesto just grabbed the neck of her dress and pulled her close for a kiss on the cheek.

“Couldn't do it without a good luck kiss. Ahora estoy listo para lo que sea!”

The goddess didn't have time to react - it was over before she could say his name, but the heat he left behind sent a tingling sensation all through her body. She giggled and took his hand into hers. At their feet, Anita carried the Moon Staff with her teeth.

“Sí, let's go!”

* * *

 

“And now… the 12th and last participants in our contest! Give a big round of applause to Emiliano and Sara, ‘Las Dos Guitarras’!!”

Ernesto never dreamed he'd be under the spotlights one more time. Under new names, with a new partner, and yet… that old exhilaration he felt on stage resurfaced again. When the curtains lifted, he was sitting on a chair, just like Sartana, back to back.

As she played the first notes, Ernesto sang with the low, seductive voice that conquered millions of fans so many years ago. Time to seize his moment.

 _‘Tiene veintitantos_  
_Y ha ganado mi torneo de ajedrez_  
_Sabe como hacer para mover_  
_Mi vida en el tablero…’_

Sartana looked up and began to sing as well, a hopeful spark shining through her voice. She got up and spun around. Her hair followed her movements gracefully, as she winked an eye to the audience.

 _‘Hace lo que quiere con mi voz_  
_Y me roba media almohada..._  
_Ha llegado a tiempo y sin querer_  
_Ha parado mi escapada’_

He slowly turned to breath in the spot where her ear once was. In the blink on a eye, Sartana passed her guitar to him before he jumped off the stage. His goddess followed him with ease, raising one of her hands up in the air. The other twirled her skirt. For a possibly-century-old skeleton, she was a flower in full bloom…

 _‘Déjame verte cuando pises tierra firme_  
_Déjame hacer un estribillo vencedor_  
_Quiero volver a verte cerca_  
_Quiero hablar con la que lleva_  
_Tu contestador, márcalo~’_

Ernesto knew she would blush the moment she sang the refrain. One thing was to write such lovely words, and another very different was to sing them for the whole world to listen - yet, she did it. There was no more doubt in her soul, he could feel it.

 _‘Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor_  
_Quiero darte’_

Sartana jumped off the stage and one of the spotlights followed her. Mic in hand, she brought one of her hands to her chest.

 _‘Sigo dando vueltas  
Sigo tus destellos de neón  
Noches de poetas _  
_Noches de apretarse el corazón’_

Ernesto jumped right next, ready to serenade her. Something about the way she moved, her bewitching voice, made him forget about the audience. It was just Sartana, the music, himself… and a very excited chihuahua dancing around his feet.

 _‘Déjame verte cuando el miedo te haga caso_  
_Déjame verte porque nadie te olvidó_  
_Quiero volver a verte cerca_  
_Yo quiero nivelar un poco el marcador, márcalo~’_

Finally face to face, Ernesto sent her guitar to his back. Some of the musicians, entranced by the tune, began to play it on his behalf - a great opportunity that Ernesto took to pull her close by the waist and waltz.

 _‘Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor_  
_Quiero darte_  
_Yo quiero darte’_

The bridge of the song had begun. Sartana released him and walked among the crowd. Many women joined her chorus.

_'Oooooo oooo ooooo ooo_

_La la la la la lai~’_

A goddess among mortals who didn't hesitate accepting the flowers a young girl offered her.

_‘Oooooo oooo ooooo ooo_

_La la la la la lai hm~’_

Sartana took one flower of the bouquet and placed it in the girl’s hair.

_‘Oooooo oooo ooooo ooo’_

_‘Na na na na le le, lei~_ ’

_‘Oooooo oooo ooooo ooo!’_

She smiled and stepped back, just in time to see her beloved champion spinning around her.

_‘Solamente quiero darte un poco de calor~’_

The goddess in black and red climbed up onto one of the tables, microphone in hand, standing tall and proud as she sang with every fiber of her being. For the most brief of moments, Ernesto didn't see her as an old skeleton, but a young angel spreading her wings.

 _‘Y que cuando tengas frío_ _  
_ _Tengas tanto, tanto, tanto, tanto frío…’_

She met his gaze, ran over the table and jumped off without fear. Ernesto caught her by the waist and spun around, as they sang at unison.

_‘Tanto como yo!’_

The infamous artist released her, holding her only by her hands. Sartana let him guide, a wide smile on her face. She was happy to share this moment with him, and he could feel it in his ribcage. A warm sensation he never wanted to end.

 _‘Tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor_  
_Yo quiero darte tanto amor, quiero darte_

_Yo quiero darte tanto amor, tanto amor’_

The mariachi led his soulmate to the door in their dance, and the spotlights shone over them. In the last verses, Ernesto picked her up into his arms bridal style for the big finale. He didn't expect Sartana to wrap her arms around his neck, or bump foreheads with him, though.

 _‘Yo quiero darte tanto amor, quiero darte_ _  
_ _Yo quiero darte, tanto amor,_

_Quiero darte…’_

The way she whispered that last verse sent a chill down his spine. When the song ended, the crowd got up and cheered for them; but Ernesto couldn't hear anything. Not when his diosa left such a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“You did so well. I'm so proud of you, mi campeón.” She muttered. “And I'm not the only one. Look all around you.”

When she opened her arms, Ernesto left her carefully on the ground and looked up. There were whistles and claps, happy faces and requests for more. Just like in the golden days. At a minor scale, but… still much better than all the pain he had gone through this year. He opened his arms to bask in the love of their audience.

Sartana opened her arms as well. Her soul markings shone like starlight. “This is what we are! This is what we do! We are artists! Musicians! **We are Las Dos Guitarras!** And no one can take that from us, ever!!”, she smiled at him and waved her hat at the crowd. “Gracias, people of the Wastelands! You're all great!"

Maybe some would criticize her outdated appearance, but, to Ernesto, her smile was the most beautiful thing in the universe. And it belonged to him alone.

He knew she had doubts about her feelings back in the forest, so much that he began to believe she didn’t return his affections. But now? The failed mariachi was overwhelmed by bliss. She returned his feelings, he was sure of it. Ernesto reached to hold her hand, afraid that this was just a dream - but no, it was real. Her claws were firm and gentle. She was here, she was real - and so was everything else.

“You were right.” Happy tears filled his eyes. He wiped them quickly and gave the crowd his best trademark grin. “We shouldn't give up, ever… not as long as there's _someone to play for.._.”

 ** _Craaaak!_**   The whistle of an engine could be heard outside. 

“Help! Please, somebody!” Suddenly, a very shaken up skeleton woman broke into the cantina. She was dressed with a combination of native attire and some European influences.

"Oh, es La Malinche!"

"Malinche, the one and only!"

Ernesto felt robbed. He was having a great time with Sartana and this... woman came in to interrupt. He felt tempted to slam the door on her face, but the barmen let her in.

A young waiter was the first to ask. “Malinche, it’s been a while. What brings you here?”

The woman frowned at the man, then turned to the crowd. “Listen up everyone, I came from the Land of the Remembered with important news!! Sartana of the Dead has returned! She joined forces with Ernesto de la Cruz! They have unleashed the worst storm I’ve ever seen. The weather already wrecked the Land of the Unknown and it’s spreading to the other kingdoms! Watch out for those two, they’re very dangerous!!”

Worried whispers spread through the customers. One of them raised her voice. “The people in the Land of the Remembered don’t remember us. How did you get here? And why should we believe your word? You sold our country to the invaders.”

“My sins in life don't count. Look, I was visiting my familia in the Land of the Unknown when the memory curse hit the Land of the Remembered.” The woman defended herself. “I am one of the few who still remember everything…”

Ernesto blinked in surprise. A memory curse? That had to be the memory spell Sartana told him about! But that wasn’t really important. What really mattered was that the Malinche had exposed them... to an extent. He knew his soul markings had changed, he had seen it in his reflection of the lake shortly after she healed up his cracks. Sartana's disguise was working for now. But, how far would they have to travel to avoid being recognized? The fame he loved was now a curse...

Many people got up to leave, but the musician felt his feet glued to the ground. He was paralysed by the fear.

Not for long, though - a tug on his hand woke him out of his reverie. “Ernesto, we gotta go.” Sartana let go to pick up Anita. “We aren’t safe here anymore.”

“Sí.” The mariachi shook his head. There was no time for doubt. “Vamos a por los caballos.”

Very soon, the villainous duo reached the dusty stables where Ernesto had spotted the prize of the contest. There weren’t that many horses in it, just five rested among the straw; but the musical pair just needed a couple of them to flee.

The unexpected visit made the equines spook and rear up, but the mariachi knew how to calm them down. “Shoo! Shoo!” He entered the stall where his old friend was kept and opened his arms. “It’s me, Dante! It’s ME!”

When their eyes met, a flash of recognition lit up the skeletal horse’s eyes. Ernesto reached carefully for the animal’s skull and hugged him. “Oh, amigo, I missed you. I’m so glad you’re alright.” The horse placed its head on Ernesto’s shoulder. That moment of peace was enough to calm down the other equine in the stall. The mare walked carefully toward the mariachi, who took that chance to pet her as well. “It’s nice to meet you too…”

“You sure have a knack for all creatures. Dogs, big beasts… is there any animal who doesn’t like you?” Sartana smiled. She entered the stall to greet her new mount.

“I’d say cats. Big ones.” Ernesto placed a saddle on Dante. He raised one brow ridge when he noticed how his chihuahua hadn’t left the goddess’s arms. “When did Anita and you become friends?”

“Girls talk during the songwriting process.” Sartana chuckled and placed a saddle on her horse as well before she climbed onto it. “Gimme my guitar back, the journey is only gonna get more dangerous from now on.”

“Por supuesto.” Ernesto handed the instrument back to her; and his damsel returned him his alebrije. A fair exchange.

In the middle of the confusion, Ernesto felt glad that the townsfolk were too busy preparing their home for the storm to notice them stealing the prize horses. After all, they weren’t the real Emiliano and Sara. But did it really matter? It wasn’t like that couple would win the contest in a honest way.

Sartana was laughing. Her long grey wig danced with the wind as they ran away from the town. Such a beautiful view…

Ernesto had no regrets. They were stealing from the real thieves, and that, in a way, made them the heroes of their own story. The story of Las Dos Guitarras.

He chuckled. That could be quite the book, for sure.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS MY READERS! Hope all of you had happy holidays? This new chapter is my gift to you all. <33  
> I apologise for updating one month later than usual. I started a new course this November and it's very, VERY demanding. Given I started so late, I had to work extra hard to make up for it. Updates might be slower, but I'll keep writing new chapters, I can promise you that! Also, thanks Bee for your tips and suggestions!
> 
> The song Sartana and Ernesto sing is "Quiero Darte" by Fredi Leis ft Cami. Here's the link so you can listen to it! https://youtu.be/-4fmDsioXhA Here's a quick translation: 
> 
> She is in her twenties  
> And she has won my chess tournament  
> She knows how to move  
> My life on the board
> 
> He does what I want with my voice  
> and steals half my pillow  
> He has arrived on time and without wanting  
> he has stopped my escape
> 
> Let me see you when you step on solid ground  
> Let me make a winning chorus  
> I want to see you close  
> I want to talk to the one who leads  
> Your answering machine, mark it
> 
> I want give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love  
> I want to give you
> 
> I keep making circles  
> I follow your neon flashes  
> Nights of poets  
> Nights of heart going tight
> 
> Let me see you when fear takes notice  
> Let me see you because nobody forgot you  
> I want to see you close  
> I want to level the score a little, mark it
> 
> I want to give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love  
> I want to give you  
> I want to give you
> 
> I just want to give you a little bit heat
> 
> And when you're cold  
> You feel so, so, so, so cold  
> As much as I do!
> 
> So much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love, I want to give you  
> I want to give you so much love, so much love  
> I want to give you so much love, I want to give you
> 
> I want to give you so much love,  
> I want to give you  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> On a side note, my beta readers pointed out a couple things that I really can't explain in-story now, but I can answer here:
> 
> Q) Do they like, have a support group for that or something? [She referred to skeles who avoided the memory spell.]  
> A) I doubt it. Most people in the Land of the Remembered were in their land when the memory magic nuked the place. La Malinche is just one of a very few lucky ones, in all her afterlife, I do think she only met one or two people going through the same thing. And given she's a very hated figure in Mexican history, most people thinks she's just trying to stir crap again. ( For more info on La Malinche, read here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Malinche )
> 
> Q) Why didn't she [Sartana] give it [The Third Eye] back?  
> A) Because she was banished, which meant she had lost her rights to speak with the gods openly. No one would listened to her anyways if she wasn't needed. Plus the Third Eye gave Sartana some insight in the future that awaited her - not accurate visions, but some images of what could be if she played her cards right. She still needs the jewel for a little longer, and her banished status doesn't let her talk to her closest family directly, so she's keeping it for now.  
> \---------------------------------------------------------  
> Things are only going to get darker from now on. We're going to see the Riveras again in the next chapter! Stay tuned!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> diosa - goddess  
> mi primo - my cousin  
> "¿Qué demonios?" - "What the hell?"  
> Hola - Hello  
> Mira qué guitarra! - Look, what a guitar!  
> He hecho trampas - I cheated/played tricks  
> amiguita - little friend  
> De acuerdo - alright  
> Está bien - it's OK  
> Sí - Yes  
> Muchas gracias - thank you so much  
> Vamos, mi diosa - Let's go, my goddess  
> “¿Estás bien?” - "Are you alright?"  
> mi princesa - my princess  
> lo siento - I'm sorry  
> tontorrón - (very) silly  
> De tal palo, tal astilla - a chip off the old block  
> Ahora estoy listo para lo que sea! - Now I'm ready for whatever comes!  
> Vamos a por los caballos - Let's [go] get the horses  
> amigo - friend  
> “Por supuesto” - "Of course"


	27. The Doll and The Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the beginning, there were only gods and alebrijes. Death existed, and so existed life. And with it, the Lands of the Living and the Dead came to be, so the souls that parted could find a place to rest.
> 
> But there is no rest for Sartana or Ernesto. And two months before Héctor can cross the Marigold Bridge, family secrets a long time buried come back to claim a piece of the present. Can Miguel save Mamá Coco in time?

'Buenos Días México, con Gabriela Fernández~

“Buenos días a todos! We've got breaking news. Múltiples testigos have recorded how a mysterious shattering glass effect has appeared all over the country's aerial space.The social networks called it “La Grieta”. This unusual phenomenon is creating a giant storm on its wake. The first reports point out that La Grieta first appeared in the borderline town of Miracle City, where local heroes El Tigre and Plata Peligrosa are working hand in hand with the infamous villains El Machete and Django of the Dead to stop it. We’re connecting now with Gonzalo Vázquez, our reporter on the field-”

A man in a helicopter appeared on screen.

“Gabriela! You won't believe it, but - Lift the camera, up, up, up! La Grieta opened and several tornadoes came out of it! Oh Santa María, look!”

The camera followed the reporter’s finger. Three tornadoes were wreaking havoc through the city. El Tigre raced against one of them with the Bronze Boots of Truth, capturing it in a vortex they couldn't escape from. Right next, the famous thief Django of the Dead strummed his mystical guitar, and several columns of lava emerged from the cracked streets. The lava curled around the vortex and drowned it out, extinguishing it. But not everyone was out of the danger zone...

“Over there! There's people down there _recording everything with their phones_!!”

A car lifted by the tempestuous winds was about to hit a bunch of teenagers! With a noisy skid, a half cyborg, half skeleton man reached them with his motorbike. Plata Peligrosa jumped from the bike’s backseat and stopped the car with a single punch of her gloved hand, sending it into the sky. The car missed the reporter's helicopter by centimeters.

“HOLY COW! Did you see that, Gabriela?! I can't believe my eyes!!”

The TV kept playing, but there was no one to listen to it in the Rivera household - except Elena. She gripped her broom until her knuckles went white.

Why did Miguel have to disappear? Why today, when a landslide from the mountains had wrecked part of Santa Cecilia? It was a miracle that there were no reports of people missing... except Miguel. Just their luck.

She put the broom aside, turned off the TV and walked to the window. The cold glass somehow anchored her to the present. The rain hadn't stopped in all day, yet Berto, Enrique, Gloria and Abel kept looking for their beloved escuincle.

It was then when she felt a tug on her sleeve.

“Abuelita…”

It was Rosa, followed by her twin brothers Manny and Benny. All with grim expressions and muddy shoes.

“The twins tried to run off to help our Papá in the search… I had to stop them...” Rosa winced and clenched her teeth. “C-can you tell them Miguel is OK? Por favor? Porque yo… no puedo…” She sniffled and took off her glasses to rub her eyes.

Elena's bottom lip trembled. Words weren't needed; both feared the same tragedy. But she was the matriarch of this family. She was born to rule, decide, and ultimately care and comfort everyone under her watch - even if she was breaking down inside.

She knelt to get at the twins’ level, and pulled them into a big hug. “Oh Dios, your shoes…!! Oh well… Don't worry.” Then she kissed each of their foreheads. “Miguel is fine, estoy segura. Maybe he ran off to visit one of his friends and just forgot to tell us.”

“Ahh… Sí, he'd do that. Pinche Miguel! And we're here all worried!” Rosa snorted, wiping away the tears that had managed to leak.

“I'm going to pull him by the ear and ground him for giving us such a scare, ya verás.” Elena jested. She released them, then patted Rosa’s cheek. “Vamos, niña, take your hermanos to their beds, it's their naptime.”

“Vale, abuelita. Gracias.” Rosa smiled shyly, then took the twins by the hands. “Vamos, I'll tell you a story…”

The moment they left, Elena's smile faded into a glum grimace. She turned to the window, biting her bottom lip.

 _Mamá, Papá, Victoria… Give me your strength_...

\-------------------------------

Julio never had been one for travel. In life, the furthest he had ever travelled was to Arizona - a trip with Coco, paid by his grandchildren as bodas de oro present. He had been afraid of leaving Santa Cecilia, boarding the plane, the whole flight, and facing the language barrier back then. However, Coco’s presence made it all better. Her hand on his, soft wrinkles messing with his own. Her smile. The way she giggled whenever he messed up with words. The hat she bought for him…

He still wasn't sure how he had made it this far away without her. He opened his eyes slowly, as a dim light peeked through the window by his side. His hands still clenched his hat.

 _You're stronger than you think, Julio_.

His wife's words echoed within his skull. He looked up, quietly admiring the nightmare-ish storm that the train just managed to leave behind. He turned to face his family.

“Victoria! Rosita! ¿Estáis bien?”

“I’m fine… mostly. Are we safe now?” Victoria asked, still clinging to one of the bars. “Ugh, that was horrible. I feel like I'm going to puke…”

Julio could see the irritation filling up Xipeto's face. “If you think you can do it better, take my weapon and do it yourself, señorita perfecta!”, the god in green and red whined. He was holding his weapon over his head, and tendrils of fuchsia energy held the wagon in its regular position. Without his help, the train probably would have gone off the rails long ago.

“Gracias por todo, Xipeto… I thought we wouldn't make it,” Rosita sighed as she tried to adjust her wig on her head. The old man could tell she was just as dizzy as Victoria.

A low chuckle interrupted them. “Sois re flojos. That was **_nothing_ ** compared to the battles I've faced in life.” Joaquín used one of the seats to get up before he turned to his wife. “¿Estás bien, María?”

“I'm fine.” María got up as well, taking the hand Joaquín offered her. “But… this looks nothing like The Land of the Unknown from our journal.” She took the notebook out of her bag.

Julio arched one brow ridge in confusion. “I thought you guys gave that diary to Imelda…” he pointed out.

“Imelda returned it to me on the way to the cenote. She felt like she didn't need it, now that we count on gods to back us up”, María explained, as she pointed to Xipeto.

“That's something she would do, sí.” Victoria nodded. She released the pole and joined her father by the window. “What is this place?”

The rosy-haired spirit lowered his weapon, that shapeshifted back into its chicahuaztli form, a simple rattle toy. He joined Julio and Victoria by the window and squinted. Lanky dead trees, a few marigold bushes, some glowy eyes watching them from the shadows…

“This is the last train station between the Land of the Unknown and the Forest of the Lost, one of the middle lands without a ruler.”

Julio's eyes went wide. He got up and went to the door, ready to leave the train. “The Candle Maker mentioned the middle lands! Here - this is the best place to start our search.”

Rosita clapped and practically hopped to join her brother. “It's true! He said that Sartana and Ernesto were crossing them so they couldn't be tracked easily.”

“I'm… not so sure about this.” Victoria hesitated. “Why would they cross the forest? Wouldn't it be easier to move in the outskirts of the city?”

“It would be… but they would be too close to the storm we left behind.” María crossed her arms. “If they're smart, they won't risk it. I'm with Julio on this one.”

“Good thing I brought my sword with me.” Joaquín lifted his weapon, striking a pose. “Vamos, amigos míos! We’ll save Coco or die trying!”

Victoria adjusted her glasses. “We're already dead”, she mumbled with a deadpan expression.

“Que te valga madres, Vic. Let him seize his moment”, María scolded her, still chuckling.

Victoria's frown turned to rage. “How dare you to say such things?!”, she yelled at her. She grabbed her father's arm and began to pull him along.  “Vámonos, papá!”

Julio visibly flinched at those words. His daughter's anger was something not to mess with. He lowered his hat. “Ay, ay, ay. Ya empezamos mal.”

\---------------------------

María frowned. Dark clouds filled the sky over their heads, the forest was covered in bloody snow, and several branches of the dead trees had cracked under the pressure. It wasn’t the nicest place to explore. She had an alebrije, and so did Joaquín - and yet the Riveras preferred to walk on the snow. Not to mention, they were keeping to themselves, mostly. She beckoned her husband to stay back, right by his side.

“Did I say anything offensive earlier?”, she whispered to him.

“I think no… but from my experience, some words are loaded. You should know that, señorita _'Always play from the heart’_.”

The way he wiggled his moustache in moments like this never failed to amuse her. Still, this wasn’t time for distractions. She reached to pat his arm and kiss his cheekbone. “In moments like this I am so glad I married you as well... Gracias for your advice. I know what to do.”

Joaquín chuckled lightly. “What are you going to do?”

“Watch me. Vamos, Chuy!” María retorted, coaxing her mount to hurry up. They needed to catch up to the Riveras. “Oye! Oye, Victoria!”

Maria noticed how Julio and Rosita stepped away from Victoria to give them some room. She appreciated it, even if it wasn't really necessary.

The lady in yellow turned to them, her face stoic as usual. “Sí?” When Chuy greeted her, Victoria returned the greeting with some pets on the pig's snout. “Eh, hola...”

María decided to break the ice. “Victoria, I want to talk with you… about what I said earlier...”

The younger skeletal woman frowned and looked aside, crossing her arms. “I don't want to talk about it!”

“We should talk, though.” María jumped off her alebrije to stand on equal foot to her (quite literally). “If you don't want to talk, at least listen to me. Mira…” She pushed her hair back in a reflex movement. “I lived in the heart of México most of my life. I really don't know what it is that I said that was so offensive to you, but… lo siento, de verdad.”

Victoria huffed and bit her bottom lip. “Some words can hurt a lot, ¿sabes?”

“If you tell me what words, I promise I won't say it ever again.” Maria extended her hand toward her in order to seal the deal.

The bespectacled lady looked down at her hand, then up to her face. “Are you playing dumb? Do you think this is a joke?”

“¿Qué?” María blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows the words! It's De La Cruz's damn motto!” Victoria raised her hands over her head, exasperated.

María looked down, embarrassed. “I… gotta admit I wasn't much into mariachi music that wasn't sung by Manolo and his close friends. I used to listen more to pieces of classic European music. So I have no idea what you're talking about. De verdad.”

She noticed a hand petting her back. Such comforting gesture only could come from Rosita, who stood behind them. “Está bien. It was an honest mistake. Those triggering words…” Rosita took a deep breath. “...are **_'Seize your moment’_ **. Get it now?”

Her first impression about Rosita was correct; she was the most understanding of all Riveras. At least now Maria knew what was so wrong about those words. “Sí, I think I do. Lo siento, Victoria, Rosita, Julio…”

Julio, who stood next to Rosita, shook his head and looked at his sister. “It wasn't intentional, so there's nothing to apologise for, right hermana?”

“Agreed.” Rosita smiled at Victoria. “Vamos, mija, you can't keep sulking forever.”

“I'll forgive her when she proves herself useful. Until then, I can tolerate her, I guess.” Victoria sighed and walked away.

Over their heads, Xipeto floated, just eating popcorn. “So it's over already? I was expecting to see wet ladies fighting on the mud, too bad.”

Julio gasped in shock and raised a scolding finger to the young god. “Don’t you dare to imagine my daughter like that, jovencito!”

“Dreaming is free!” The mischievous god laughed and flew out of his reach, amused at the annoyance written all over Julio's face.

Suddenly, a loud noise could be heard nearby. A branch fell right before Fiero, and the equine alebrije reared up, startled.

“Shoo, shoo! Tranquilo, Fiero! Everything is going to be alright.” Joaquín patted his horse’s neck to calm him down, then turned to the group. “Este lugar se cae a pedazos. We'll be safer if we ride the alebrijes.”

“Good idea!” María extended her hand toward the lady in yellow. “Ven conmigo, Vic.”

“V-vale…” Victoria's markings lit up in a blink-and-miss moment, as she climbed over Chuy with her help.

Joaquín turned to Rosita, smirking. “Wanna ride the horse of a man with a mighty moustache?”

“I could be your abuelita. María can and totally should smack you; because that sounds like you're trying to flirt with me.” Rosita scolded him, though a easy laughter was soon to follow.

“No te preocupes, she gets me.” Joaquín grinned at his wife.

“Pequeño sinvergüenza.” María rolled her eyes and laughed. “Don't worry señora, he can flirt all he wants; at the end of the day Manolo and me are the ones in his bed.” Only then she realized that two alebrijes weren't enough to carry all of them. “Oh, señor Rivera...”

“María, I can walk.” The old man smiled to her. “Don't worry about me.”

“I do worry, though. And my mom asked me to keep you guys safe.” Xipeto returned to the ground. Gone was the usual cheer from his face, now there was only determination left. “Wait a moment.”

The spring god closed his eyes and got on his fours. A wave of pink, red, white and green magic surrounded him, along with hundreds of multicolored corn silks. His hands and feet became hooves and his face shifted into a long and delicate snout. His cape turned into a furry red coat with elegant white and pink markings, a small tail appeared at the end of his back, and finally, his pink hair went up and grew to become an massive set of horns. When the magic vanished a giant deer stood on his place.

“This is my Nahual form.” The stag spoke with Xipeto's voice. He knelt before Julio. “Climb up. If you're going to save your wife, better to do it on style!”

Julio was too stunned for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “O-oh, right! Muchas gracias!” He climbed onto the deer's back, then beckoned everyone to follow his lead. “Vamos! Let’s find Coco!”

* * *

 

“ _Are you, are you_ _  
_ _Coming to the tree?_ _  
_ _They strung up a man_   
They say who murdered three…”

Coco rubbed her arms, and her hawk alebrije, comfortably perched on her shoulder, snuggled up to her. Zacapi had been guiding her through the forest since dawn; yet it seemed there was no end in sight. His monotonous voice tugged at her heartstrings. That song… he had been singing it when they met, too.

“You remembered more lyrics, I see”, she smiled, cocking her head.

“Oh, no, no. I'm just stating facts in song. Things I can see. Because I can see many things, you know? I don't even need these.” Zacapi took off his glasses. “Though no one takes my visions seriously.”

“That's too bad… but…” Coco bit her bottom lip, unsure if she wanted an honest answer. “What do you mean with 'facts’? And why do you use glasses if you don't need them?”

Zacapi looked at her for a moment. “I think glasses are pretty neat. They make me look smarter than I am.” Then he closed his eyes and put them on again. “As for those 'facts', my mushrooms can see words in the earth. Their knowledge becomes part of me. Sometimes, even the wind itself talks to me. Old messages carried by what longs to return...”

“So that's how you found me. Your mushrooms told you, right? That's amazing.” Coco could already see some ways to use such unusual powers, but she wanted to learn more about him first. “What are your friends telling you now?”

Zacapi slid his index finger under his mask, sucked on it and raised it. A brief breeze was all he needed. “The wind is chatty today. I can hear the agony of a bad man receiving his punishment. His actions took three lives that never got a chance to be lived at its fullest.”

“Three?” Coco asked, confused. She bit her bottom lip. “Do you mean Ernesto de la Cruz?”

“Attempted murder doesn't count. Ernesto has done many bad things, but there is only one death in his list of sins.” Zacapi shook his head and climbed up one of the trees. What was he trying to find up there? “That man is something else...”

“Who?” Coco insisted, frowning a bit. Why did this kid had to be so cryptic all the time?

Zacapi picked up some mushrooms growing on the dead bark located at the top of the tree and ate them. He released a quiet sigh. “The winds are changing. Freedom is coming for those who await. But others are running out of time.”

The elder Rivera facepalmed in frustration. Metaphors weren't her strongest point, poetry was something more in line with her father than herself. “Zacapi, no te entiendo ni pío! Do you see something, sí o no?”

He kept watching into the horizon, chewing slowly on another mushroom. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he started coughing - enough to make Coco worry.

“Zacapi, hey, are you alright!?”

The apple-skinned god shook his head, though he wasn’t really looking at her. “No… no… There must be some mistake! I refuse to believe this!” Zacapi devoured another piece, as his eyes went glassy with tears. “No, no… it can't be…Por favor… no...”

He broke down, crying. His sudden mood shift made Coco’s heart echo the same kind of concern she felt for her daughters. Maybe Zacapi was a god, but she saw nothing of that right now - just a kid that needed her help. Coco patted her alebrije on the head. “Vamos, Bonita, help me to fly up there!”

The hawk did her best to hold onto her friend and take flight, but her claws weren't strong enough to lift Coco's full weight. The alebrije screeched and Coco gave her a comforting pat, all too aware that Bonita had limits - she was no Pepita, at least not yet. “It's okay, you tried.” She looked up to the apple-skinned boy still on the tree. “Zacapi, what’s wrong?! What’s going on? Answer me!”

He didn't reply. Instead, he jumped right by her side and began to whisper new lyrics.

 _“Are you, are you_ _  
_ _Coming to the tree?_ _  
_ _Where dead man called out_   
For his love to flee…”

That was some strange response, but at this point Coco was used to his weirdness. She extended one arm and her alebrije perched on it. Maybe she'd get answers if she asked the right questions. “Are those lyrics also facts?” She asked, arching a brow ridge.

Zacapi flinched and shook his head. He covered his eyes and took deep breaths. “No... Only visions... Probabilities that I hope never happen.”

“I thought your mushrooms only told you things that already happened.” Coco's eyes went wide. So Zacapi could predict the future, too? That was some scary ability.

“This is the Forest of the Lost. People loses things here all the time: alebrijes, dreams, hopes… and sometimes, visions of possible futures.” He hugged himself and looked at her. “Something terrible is going to happen, Coco…”

“Can't be worse than the blood rain we had to endure last night.” The old woman pointed to her stained clothes, then took his hand and looked around. “Besides… we've been walking todo el día. Why didn't we get outta here already?”

“Plot convenience. Also the fact I'm prone to get lost easily when I can’t see the sun or the moon…” The bespectacled deity released a sheepish laugh and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I apologise for that.”

“You're just as bad as mi Papá.” Coco laughed and shook her head. Zacapi could be annoying and hard to figure out, but his laid back nature made it all better. She couldn’t get mad at him. The elder lady was about to say something more when she heard a cracking noise nearby. “Did you hear that? Maybe it's those two again!”

“I’m not sure if it’s them, but better to be safe than sorry!!” Xacapi grabbed a branch and handed it to her. “Here! Just - don’t hit Sartana. Leave her to me.”

“How do you know--” Coco tried to ask, but Zacapi interrupted her, covering her mouth.

“I saw and heard everything. I know who you were the moment you guys entered the forest. And yes, I know you hurt my sister. I can forgive that, but please... Just… don’t hurt her again, if it’s indeed her. Let me talk to her. Por favor… Socorro.”

Coco’s shoulders sagged under the pressure. Zacapi and Sartana being siblings made sense, given both of them were gods - but this bond unnerved her. What if Zacapi had been misleading her the whole time? What if he tried to keep her away from her family…

“Señora?”

“Can I trust you, Zacapi?” She stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “Be honest. Por favor.”

Zacapi’s bottom lip trembled. “I… I…” He looked up to the sky, but his gaze dropped to the ground before it could meet hers. His hands clenched in fists. “You shouldn’t. I’m no good for you, or anyone.” His hands covered his face. “I’m not good enough, never have been. I shouldn’t even exist, I am not a _whole being_ like **_they_ ** are, hahaha…” His cheek cracked like dry mud.

“Zacapi! Your face!” She gasped.

He let out a sad sigh and removed the mask covering his mouth. As pieces from his cracked face fell into his hands, Coco could see only half of it actually crumbled, revealing smooth, almost wood-like black skin underneath. In fact, his white coat seemed more rag-like than ever. Had she been travelling with a Tarahumara doll all day?

He left his mask on the ground and buried it, a sad smile on his face. “I’ve been suppressing _our_ **_true_ ** _self_ for too long, too long… But if **_we_ ** … no, if **I** am fast…” She’d swear she could hear a second voice echoing his words. “Maybe **I** still can do something good. Maybe that’s **_our_ ** … **my** purpose in this world… To save her. Because _no one_ saved _us_ that day. **_We_ ** only had each other. **_We_ ** … only have **me** now...”

“Qué…?!” Coco couldn’t understand. Not good enough? A whole being? Who were those ‘they’ he was talking about? Why such emphasis on ‘we’ and ‘me’? What on Earth was happening?! She reached carefully for his shoulder. “Zacapi…”

“Don’t touch me!” The weakness in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings. “L-lo siento... Por favor, don't touch me. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stepped back and raised his arms. His white coat faded and acquired the appearance of a cape made with colourful corn leaves, sealed with a bougainvillea. His pants turned into a loincloth decorated with seven circles. The mushrooms on his shoulder pads changed as well, turning into exquisite gold jewelry: several necklaces, bracelets, a gold bar crossing his nose and a lone feather on his hair.

As if following a silent call, several red eyes appeared in the shadows - a full alebrije army of bears, cacomistles, ocelots, axolotls, dogs, birds, and many other animals. Even Coco’s alebrije was drawn to him, but the shapeshifting deity raised his hand to stop her. “No, Bonita. You should stay with Coco. You waited enough for her to come.” Zacapi turned around and climbed on the back of a giant eagle with gills. “I need to go.”

“Espera!” Coco tried to hold onto his mount. “You can't leave me here! What about the noise we heard?! What if it's them? Who do you need to save?!”

“The noise we heard, uh…” The god licked his own lips, as a light breeze caressed his hair. Zacapi took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Glowy particles of light fell from his eyelids, like tiny, shaky fireflies holding onto his fingers. A little smile came to his face. “Todo irá de perlas, Coco. They're here for you.”

“Sartana and Ernesto are here?!” Coco shuddered at the thought. She didn’t worry much about herself, but she feared what Sartana could do to the young deity. After all, the weather had gone nuts after the rogue goddess stole her aunt’s staff. “You can't leave me here with them! Llévame contigo, por favor!!”

“No. Not this time.” Zacapi reached to caress her cheekbone, then he ran his thumb over her eyes, dropping some of that golden gust over them. “Gracias, Coco. You gave me the first sense of familia I had in decades…” he looked up to the sky, and his hands clutched on the alebrije's neck feathers. “Now I must take it to the person who needs it the most, before it’s too late. Arre!!”

“Zacapi…” The elder Rivera felt her legs faltering, and a sense of dizziness taking her. “No... me...dejes...”

The eagle took off with a loud cry, and several alebrijes followed suit. Those who couldn’t fly were lifted by the god’s magic energy. The last thing Coco saw was how her new friend led his alebrije army to the skies, before everything faded to black.

* * *

 

“Demonios…” Xipeto let out an unpleasant huff, as he tried to avoid the stained snow with his hooves. “I like blood, but this amount is just ridiculous. Qué pedo... ¿qué ha pasado aquí?”

“No lo sé… but this place is scary. So much silence.” Julio held tightly onto the deity’s furry neck. He looked back. Joaquín was chatting with his sister in the most carefree of ways, while María and Victoria kept their eyes glued for anything that moved in the trees. But in reality, nothing moved. Everything was quiet like a misty morning in a cemetery.

“Tienes razón, Julio.” The nahual prince stood still and flicked his ears, trying to catch any sounds from afar. “At this time, we should have already run into wild alebrijes. Or the forest ranger that keeps them. I’m surprised he isn’t here…”

“You know him?” Julio decided to indulge in the pinch of curiosity in his mind.

“Sí, él es mi hermano pequeño, Zacapi.” The red deer shook his head, mindful to avoid the branches with his horns. “He’s a weirdo with too much free time. If he didn’t spend all his time doing drugs, probably he would have found his path in existence long ago.”

“With all my respects, mi Señor, the value of a person shouldn’t be measured only by their productivity, but their true self. If that Zacapi is a good kid… maybe that’s what really matters. It sounds like he needs help.”

Before Xipeto could answer, Chuy made a loud ‘meep’, enough to make both the horse alebrije and the god stop in his tracks.

María patted her alebrije’s cheek. “Did you smell something weird, amigo?” The pig alebrije nodded enthusiastically, and his protegee smirked. “Sí? I knew your snout would be helpful! Lead the way, Chuy!”

With an exultant ‘meep’, the pig opened its mouth and used his tusks to open a new path. As Chuy wrecked the forest, Joaquín gave a playful nudge to Rosita and hit gently his alebrije’s body with his legs. “It’s hero time! Hold on tight, señora!” Following his indication, Fiero jumped over Chuy, María and Victoria. “JOAQUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIÍN!”

“He _really_ likes to show off, doesn’t he?” Xipeto narrowed his eyes.

“You’re one to talk.” Julio laughed and patted his neck. “Vamos, amigo. We can’t let them leave us behind. Arre!” The stag gave him a miffed sidelong glance. “Or… not Arre. Whatever you want?”

“I’m not an alebrije, por favor remember that.” The deity sprung after them. “After all, I’m so much better- AAAHHH!!” Right when Xipeto was passing next to Chuy, the pig accidentally hit him with the trunk of a tree - sending both of them to a clearing several meters ahead!

* * *

 

“Papá! María, mi padre!”

“Señor Rivera!” María tugged at Chuy’s collar right away. “Stop, stop!” Then she looked up ahead. “Joaquín, come back!” She looked back at Victoria. “Lo siento! Yo no quería...”

“It’s alright, I saw it was an accident.” Victoria smiled to her. “But I gotta help my father”, she added, jumping off Chuy’s back.

It was then when she heard a jubilant scream, the happiest she had heard in a long time.

“GUYS, hurry up! I found her! **She’s here!!!** Coco is here! And there’s an alebrije with her!”

“Mamá…?” Victoria uttered, unable to believe what she just heard. She pushed some bushes aside, just to find her father cradling a body in his arms and a hawk alebrije perching on his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, she could that the unconscious woman in the stained dress was indeed her mom. “Mamá!!” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she ran to join her parents. “Papá, you found her! Mamá, mamá, despierta!!”

* * *

 

A light golden dust fell off her eye sockets, as Coco scrunched up her face. She slowly opened her eyes. “Julio? Where… what happened…?”

“It doesn't matter…” Her husband was about to cry, she could tell by the way his shoulders were shaking. “Mi Coco…” She didn't have time to react, as he pressed his bony lips to hers. The same moustache, the familiar warmth in her ribcage.

Coco smiled and returned the kiss, forgetting about the world, even if it was just a moment. “Mi Julio…”

“Mamá…” The shaky voice she heard let her know they weren't alone. Her smile grew, as she recognized her eldest daughter.

“Victoria!”, she exclaimed, turning to hug her.

“Oh Mamá! I'm so glad you're alright!”

“Well, I'm dead. Can't get worse than that, heh!”

María, Rosita, Joaquín and their alebrijes reached the clearing at that moment.  Rosita was the first to jump off the alebrijes. She raced to hug Coco, which prompted Victoria to give her room to do so. “Ayyyy, mi Coquititito! We were so worried for you! I missed you so much!

“I missed you too, Rosita…” Coco hugged her back.

“Mamá, how did you get away from Ernesto and Sartana? Did you escape while they weren’t watching, or something?” Victoria asked, curiosity sparkling in her voice.

“I…I can’t remember…” Coco held her head with one hand. “My memory is blurry…”

“Está bien. You went through something traumatic. Can you walk?” Julio managed to help her to get up.

“Sí, I think I can…” The elder woman checked her ribs. “No damage here.”

“Así me gusta.” Julio smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’re fine. Everything is going to be fine… We’re going home… right, Xipeto?”

The deer god took a deep sniff before he approached them. “I am not so sure. Hay algo en el aire…”

“You’re right,” Joaquín mumbled, looking around. “I just have a hunch… this was too easy...”

Suddenly, a booming noise shook the entire forest, throwing every person and alebrije in sight to the ground. It didn't last, though - several rips cracked the sky, all coming from the same spot: the Mountain of Souls, crowned by a column of light.

Rosita took a deep breath. “No mameeesss! What is THAT?!”

“The Alarm of the Gods went off!! Something really bad must have happened, the Candle Maker is summoning us! We must go there! Everyone, come around me, hurry!”

A circle of magic appeared under his hooves, and both alebrijes and skeletons hopped onto it. The next seconds were a flurry of nervous voices and particles of light. Coco wasn't sure why her body felt so strange, but, if she closed her eyes, she could truly see everything: the way herself, along with all her friends and family, crossed the evening sky… like a comet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (belated) Valentines day, my readers! This chapter is extra special, because it's a birthday gift to some great friends of mine: Bee, Chio-sempai, Relax, and all my other buddies who celebrate their special day on this month. May you receive many, many, MANY gifts! Love you guys! I've been pretty busy in RL, mainly because of exams, studies, and Carnival being around the corner. I'm preparing a HDDG!Sartana cosplay. If you want to see the photos, follow my Tumblr blogs and keep and eye on my Discord server! <3
> 
> Tarahumara dolls are a kind of Mexican dolls. You can read about them in these articles (In Spanish):  
> https://masdemx.com/2017/01/munecas-artesanales-tradicionales-mexico-mexicanas/  
> https://travesiasdigital.com/noticias/festival-de-munecas-artesanales-en-mexico  
> You can also buy your own Tarahumara doll here. https://www.etsy.com/market/tarahumara_doll?ref=l2
> 
> Zacapi just opened Pandora's box. What horrible future did he witness in his visions? What does he mean with 'whole' and 'we'? What is happening in the Cave of Souls? And what happened to Héctor, Miguel and Imelda? Stay tuned for more!
> 
> Translations for this chapter:  
> Buenos días a todos - Good morning to everyone  
> Múltiples testigos - Multiple witnesses  
> La Grieta - The Rip  
> escuincle - child  
> Abuelita - grandmother  
> Por favor - please  
> Porque yo no puedo - Because I can't  
> estoy segura - I'm sure of it  
> Sí - yes  
> Pinche - silly  
> ya verás - you'll see  
> Vamos, niña - Come on, child  
> hermanos - brothers  
> Vale - Alright  
> Gracias - thank you  
> ¿Estáis bien? - Are you alright?  
> señorita perfecta - perfect lady  
> Gracias por todo - thanks for everything  
> Sois re flojos - You're so weak (plural)  
> Vamos, amigos míos! - Come on, my friends!  
> Que te valga madres - Slang for "It's enough!" (approximately)  
> Vámonos, papá! - Let's go, dad  
> Ya empezamos mal - We already started badly  
> Oye! - Here!/Look here!, a expression to draw attention from someone else  
> hola - hello  
> Mira - Look  
> lo siento, de verdad - I'm really sorry  
> ¿sabes? - You know?  
> ¿Qué? - What?  
> de verdad - really  
> Está bien - it's alright  
> hermana - sister  
> mija - my daughter  
> jovencito - young man  
> Tranquilo - Calm (down)  
> Este lugar se cae a pedazos - this place is falling to pieces  
> Ven conmigo - come with me  
> No te preocupes - don't worry  
> Pequeño sinvergüenza - little rascal  
> señora - lady  
> no te entiendo ni pío - I don't understand a word  
> sí o no - yes or not  
> Todo irá de perlas - Slang for "Everything is going to be fine"  
> Arre! - Interjection to sign the mount to start walking/running  
> No me dejes - Don't leave me  
> Demonios - Literally, "Devils". It can be used as slang for "Jeez"  
> Qué pedo...? - What the hell?  
> No lo sé - I don't know  
> Tienes razón - You're right  
> él es mi hermano pequeño - he's my little brother  
> mi Señor - my Lord  
> amigo - friend  
> mi padre - my dad  
> Yo no quería - I didn't want to  
> Mamá, despierta! - Mom, wake up!  
> Así me gusta - That's how I like it  
> No mames! - Slang to express surprise or shock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first fic on AO3. I'm not a native English speaker (I'm Spanish) so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I want to say thank you to my excellent beta-reading team: baegels, glitter-tornado, hectorswonkyfibula and parrotfishteeth on Tumblr :D Thanks to RavenNatalie for checking my Mexican Spanish, Nahuatl and Latin expressions! :3
> 
> Most TBOL information provided in this story comes from Jorge Gutiérrez's twitter and Tumblr accounts (mexopolis), and I've tried to stick to the canon dates released by Lee Unkrich about the Rivera family as much as possible. As for "El Tigre", my headcanon is that the events of the show took place in 2007. 
> 
> This story will feature several Spanish expressions in future chapters and I'll translate them here :3 If you have any suggestions or ideas you'll like to see in the story, let me know! :D I love comments and any feedback is appreciated!


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